Forsaken
by Evenstar Elanor
Summary: Forsaken at birth. Forsaken in life. Finally, I found something, something to call mine. A glimmer in my darkness. Yet I was forsaken there too. Please do not be quick to judge me. Hear my story, the tale of my plight.
1. Deliverance and Death

A/N: New story. This one revolves around the sole character I own, Elentari, later to be known as Isilme and Faramir. I hope you like it! Please review, it encourages me to update.  
  
Chapter 1: Deliverance and Death  
  
Early in the morning, screams penetrated the permeated air like knives. The White City was awoken by sounds of struggle, pain, gasps for air.  
"Hold on Ariethel, just a while longer," lovely, yet pale Finduilas murmured to her beloved friend, whose hold on her hand had become painful.  
Midwives hurried to and fro, fetching towels, herbs, anything to make the Lady more comfortable as she struggled to deliver.  
  
Denethor stood beyond the doors of the Houses of Healing, but he could hear the struggle going on inside, the screams, the pain. Two young boys, the elder, just short of his ninth year, his raven hair in his face, stood beside his father, frightened by the commotion inside, but afraid to show it. The younger by five years, stood with his head buried in that of his brother, his blue eyes clouded by fright, barely stifling his whimpers.  
"What's happening Father?" the elder tugged at Denethor's tunic, "Where's Mama? Where is Aunt Ariethel?"  
"They are inside Boromir," his father answered, his face grave.  
"Why is she screaming?" the young lad whimpered, "Aunt Ariethel, why is she screaming?"  
"She is in pain, Faramir" Denethor replied.  
"Why Father?" Boromir asked naively, "There are no Orcs in the city." Denethor uttered a dry laugh at the naïveté of his son and answered, "You will see, my son."  
  
What seemed like hours later, a midwife opened the door solemnly, beckoning the men in.  
Boromir felt his brother's grip tighten as they strode in hand in hand. What met their eyes was a frightening sight. There was blood everywhere. A baby was heard crying. Their mother, pale and tired, sat by the bloody bed, whispering something to the person on it. They looked up to see who it was--Aunt Ariethel, sweaty, deathly pale, and gaunt. Upon seeing them, Finduilas opened her arms to her sons, sweeping Faramir onto her lap and embracing Boromir. They looked over to the bed. The woman smiled slightly, her gaze feeble and weak.  
"Hello boys. Come to see your new sister?" she gasped, each breath taking difficulty. With that, a midwife brought the newly swaddled baby forward, into her mother's arms.  
"My baby. My darling baby," Ariethel whispered.  
Faramir's innocent, big blue eyes gazed at the bundle and said, "She's very pretty."  
Both Finduilas and Ariethel smiled, "Yes she is," Finduilas said, "What are we going to call her Ariethel?" The baby's eyes flittered open, showing innocent, grey eyes that mirrored the Sea. They shone like the Silmarils and Valacirca, stars of Varda.  
"Elbereth," Finduilas murmured.  
"Elentari, she shall be called. May the Grace of the Valar be upon you," her mother whispered gently.  
"Elentari. Varda, Elentari. Queen of Stars. Almarea naise lya aure*," Finduilas blessed.  
"Elentari. Pretty name," Boromir said, "Why can't I have a pretty name like that?"  
"Boromir of Gondor, there is nothing wrong with your name," Finduilas cried indignantly, while Faramir's eyes never left Elentari.  
"Can we play with her? I mean, when she gets bigger," Faramir asked.  
"Of course Faramir darling, of course," Ariethel answered tiredly.  
  
The Master Healer had drawn Denethor aside.  
"The Lady Ariethel had a particularly difficult time in delivering the child. We fear that the worst is still to come. She may not recover so well. It would be wise to leave her alone for now." Denethor looked worried at this and quickly moved over to Finduilas to signal this. Elentari was returned to the nurses and everyone left, before Ariethel fell into a delirium.  
  
Hours later, Finduilas was sitting outside the House, waiting for news of her beloved friend. She had been worried, as her friend had not looked very well, and her childbirth had been particularly painful and difficult. The words of the Healer furthered this point. Her thoughts were broken by the door swinging open and a healer running out crying, "Lady Finduilas! She is calling for you. There has been an infection. They do not think she will last."  
Finduilas was frantic as she ran in to find her friend moaning her name in a delirium. She quickly found her seat and grasped Ariethel's hand.  
"An infection sprang up. We did not know how it did, but there's nothing we can do. She won't last very long," the Master Healer murmured, "I'm sorry."  
Tears stung her eyes as Finduilas looked upon her childhood friend, struggling between this world and the next. As Ariethel moaned her name, Finduilas answered, "I'm here Ariethel. I'm here."  
After what took quite a struggle of will, Ariethel opened her heavy- lidded eyes and gasped, "Finduilas. Look after my baby, my Elentari. Look after her for me. Love her. Be her mother for me. Look after my darling. She has no one. Hurin is dead," she gasped out for breath at the mentioning of her departed husband, "Promise me Finduilas. Promise me you'll love her."  
Finduilas could not keep the tears back any longer, but refused to let her friend see her weakness. She trembled, "I promise you Ariethel, my friend, my sister." Ariethel smiled satisfactorily and closed her eyes and sighed for a final time, as darkness took her.  
Finduilas finally let her tears flow freely and sobs wracked through her body. She cried until her tears were spent and stayed there, holding her friend's body in embrace, like if she held on to her body, her soul could not fly away, to the halls of Mandos. Finally, what seemed like hours later, she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked to see Denethor, grim and grey behind her.  
"Come. Let her go. Her spirit will find the halls of Mandos. She will be there with Hurin, our kinsman and both her Elven kin and those of Men. Let her go Finduilas. She will be sorely missed, but we must let her go. We will see her one day."  
Finduilas did not, could not answer, but merely nodded and let her the cold body out of her embrace. Denethor helped her up and steadied her, his eyes lined with pain and grief, for he had known Ariethel well, not as well as his wife, but he had. Just then, a Healer brought Elentari to them, sleeping contently, knowing nothing yet of the grieves that had befallen her.  
Finduilas took the babe into her own arms and kissed her, "You shall be my daughter. I have two sons, and you will be my daughter. Melda Elentari*."  
In her heart Finduilas would never recover from the death of her dear friend of childhood, but the baby's innocent countenance and shining grey eyes allowed those worries to diminish, at least for a time, until Finduilas went herself, to join her dearly departed friend, in the halls of Mandos.  
  
* Almarea nasie lya aura": Blessed may your days be. 


	2. Gone where I can't follow

A/N: This one's a bit longer, as some ppl requested. Please review! Encouragement! I know this is historically inaccurate, as Finduilas dies when Faramir is around five, but for my story purposes, she dies when he is seven, so Elentari still remembers her a bit. I try. I try. I own Ariethel and Elentari and I wish, Faramir, but no. He belongs to JRR Tolkien, along with everyone else. I will be updating like crazy, as I am on spring break, so please review! I'm having some difficulty with the formatting, so yea, the song Finduilas sings is in weird format.  
  
Chapter 2:Gone where I can't follow  
  
Minas Tirith was in mourning; the White City was veiled in black.  
  
Finduilas held her 'daughter' in her arms and led the funeral procession. Dressed and veiled in black, her usually proud head slumped low and dreary; her spirit broken. The usually playful light of her eyes was gone; vanished. It seemed to the White City, that with Ariethel's death, Finduilas had died too. Denethor walked beside her, his proud head held high, his face grim and cold, his tread unfaltering. His expression was set, serious and grim, like a shield that repels all bouts of pain and grief. Faramir and Boromir walked alongside their mother, slow and unsteady. Faramir's eyes were full of tears. Tears for his beloved aunt, who had played with him when his mother was ill, when Denethor was too busy, and when Boromir shunned him. Aunt Ariethel, who had bought him secret treats when he was feeling ill or down. Aunt Ariethel, who had cradled him at night when he had had nightmares. He felt grief especially hard, for one so young, which had to do with his gentle nature. As the procession reached Silent Street, Finduilas gave the sleeping baby to her handmaid. She raised her once-proud head and sang:  
  
You have gone Where I cannot follow Dear friend Linger while you can And wait awhile for me  
  
Closer than kin, My friend You stood beside me Through light and shadow Happiness and sorrow  
  
But now you're gone Gone where I can't follow Leaving me with just the sorrow No glimmer in the darkness  
  
Ai, Ariethel Dear friend Ai, Ariethel Dear sister Ai, Ariethel  
  
Finduilas closed her weary eyes, dropped on her knees, and let her last tears drop from her long lashes. With that, Ariethel was placed in her tomb; forever to dwell in the cold, grey stone. Yet her spirit had found the halls of Mandos, the halls of Men and some of her Elven kin. For she was of the kin of Nimrodel, or at least of her maids, of Amroth, and the Elven blood ran through her veins, as it did that of her daughter, Elentari.  
  
"Finduilas, melda*, come. We must let her go. Do not dwell on the dead and forget to live, my love. We will see her again one day, when we too make that journey, far from this Middle-Earth," Denethor murmured, a hand on his wife's shoulder.  
  
It took Finduilas a few days to recover from her friend's death in body, but in spirit she would never fully heal. She took the baby Elentari into her own care, and as she promised, loved her as a daughter. Her sons, especially Faramir, took to the girl very well. Finduilas believed that Faramir wanted someone younger to play with, someone who was not so different in age, as he and Boromir were. Do not assume that Boromir shunned Faramir, for that was not the case. "Between the brothers there was great love... Boromir was the helper and protector of Faramir." However, Finduilas's assumption was not the case, as Faramir felt a connection with this younger sister of his; someone to share his loneliness and his sorrows.  
Boromir looked to Elentari as his younger sister, for him to protect and aid, just as he did Faramir. It quirked him a bit that his mother was spending so much time on the baby girl, but he overcame that fairly quickly, for it was not in Boromir's nature to be envious.  
  
As the girl steadily grew older, she proved to take to the Elven blood within her, enmeshed with that of the nobles of Gondor. Her long dark hair flew behind her as she raced with the wind. She had the grey, sea longing eyes, that of the old lords of Numenor and the Teleri Elves. Finduilas would look upon her and smile, and whisper to the wind, "Ariethel, you would be proud of her. She is as beautiful as you are."  
  
"Boromir! Where are you going?" Faramir cried.  
"Oh, we're just going to the lower levels. Stay here Faramir," an eleven-year-old Boromir replied to his six-year-old brother.  
"Can I come? Please? I promise I won't be of any trouble," Faramir begged, wanting to tag along with his brother and friends.  
"No Faramir. Stay here. It's not safe."  
"Then why are you going?"  
"Because I'm bigger and it's okay for me."  
"Boromir. Please?"  
"No," the firm and final answer came. Faramir pouted as he watched his brother and friends run off laughing amongst themselves. Finding nothing to do, he trudged back to his chambers, finding his mother and three-year-old Elentari in the gardens.  
"Faramir, melda*, what's wrong?" Finduilas asked her still sulking son.  
"Boromir went to the lower levels with his friends," he complained. His mother smiled and took him in her arms. Faramir buried his face in his mother's arms, taking in the scent of flowers always upon her. He turned at someone tugging at his tunic.  
"You can play with me," Elentari offered.  
Without hesitating, Faramir replied, "What are we playing?"  
"You pick, you're older."  
"How about you hide, and I'll find you," Faramir suggested.  
"Okay." Faramir counted, with Finduilas checking to make sure he wasn't peeking, while Elentari hid. She climbed a tree easily, a gift of the Elves, and hid amongst the branches, willing the leaves to cover her. Faramir looked and looked, but could not find her. "Mother, where is she?"  
Finduilas smiled, a lovely smile, "Child, you must find her yourself." Faramir sighed, frustrated and continued to look. After circling the garden for the umpteenth time, he heard a childish giggle from above. He looked up, to see a small foot dangling from a tree limb. He climbed a few limbs, reached out and grabbed the foot. Elentari shrieked and giggled as she dangled from the tree.  
"Found you!! Found you! My turn now!" Faramir exclaimed triumphantly. Elentari made her way down from the tree and counted. They played rounds and rounds, Faramir forgetting his trouble with Boromir. Laughter filled the air as Finduilas watched her children-one her son, one the daughter of her dearest friend.  
  
As dusk fell and cold began to stir the air, Finduilas beckoned them inside. After dinner, they sat in her chambers around a fire. Elentari sat in Finduilas lap, her head resting on her shoulder, while Faramir sat below, his head resting against her knee.  
"Nana*, tell me a story," Elentari requested. Finduilas smiled at the endearing term the young girl used for her and asked, "What kind of story do you wish to hear, my love?"  
"Tell us one about Aunt Ariethel. About how you met," Faramir requested. Hearing her mother's name, Elentari tensed. She did not remember Ariethel, as Finduilas was the only mother she knew or would know. Ariethel to her was a mere memory of loveliness and warmth, for she knew naught of her, only the name.  
"Well, Ariethel, your mother Elentari, was my dearest friend. We were born under the same sign, in Amroth. Our mothers were dear friends, though your mother was of kin of Imrahil, of Elven blood. She had descended from an Elven maid, Nimrodel herself, or one of her handmaidens. We were dearest friends, I did everything I could for her, and she did for me. We were never seen apart. Even when I was married to Minas Tirith, to Lord Denethor, Ariethel came along with me as my maid of honor. She dwelt in this city with me, accompanying me daily. Her happiness was a bit tainted, however, and I soon realized it. She was lonely, and a bit homesick for Dol Amroth. I talked to her about it, about returning home, but she shook her proud head. 'My place is with you, my lady.' She rarely called me lady, mostly just as a tease, but I saw this time, she was serious."  
"But wasn't she of high birth?" Faramir questioned.  
"She was. But she had given it up to come with me to Gondor, a bit to the sorrow of our people in Amroth. When I was with Boromir, we spent our days fantasizing over what our children would do, and it dawned on me that it was high time for her to be married. She herself helped me deliver Boromir, and she personally swaddled him. After I had recovered from the birth, I asked her about a husband. She merely smiled and said, 'Well, my lovely Finduilas, find me a man you deem worthy and I shall tell.'"  
"Was that Uncle Hurin?" Faramir piped up.  
"Hush Faramir, you will see," Finduilas chided. Elentari's eyes were wide with wonder. She had never known this about her parents. They had merely been names, meaning nothing to her, only distant figures of endearment. Finduilas was her mother, as far as she was concerned, and on the rare occasions when Denethor was not grim and distant, her father.  
"Over the next few months, I looked about the city and I noticed that Ariethel had become quite dear to a man of the name Hurin, named after Turambar's father, of old. He was of high birth in Gondor, a friend of Denethor's. They would gaze at each other at the feasts held after great victories. Ariethel would smile secretly at every mention of him. I saw quite plainly that my dear friend was in love."  
"Hurin was my father," Elentari said, it was more of a statement than a question.  
"Yes he was, Elentari. I spoke to Denethor of the matter, and he quite happily arranged the matter. When asked, both Hurin and Ariethel were quite happy and gave their consent. They were married on New Year's Eve four years ago. A bit to my sorrow, Ariethel moved out of my house, and started her own, of course. I knew it would happen, but we were still together for the main portions of the day. She was happy, and I was happy for her. A few months into their marriage, Hurin left for a scouting trip to Ithilien, with his fellow Rangers. Days after he left, Ariethel was plunged into melancholy, for her heart forbade the oncoming events. However, joy was soon found when she discovered she was with child."  
"With me," Elentari added solemnly.  
"Yes, and she was happy, for a time, until a handful of the rangers came back, reporting an ambush near Cair Andros. Most of the men had been slaughtered, including Hurin."  
"My father was killed," Elentari said, her eyes grave and wane.  
"Your mother tore her hair out in sorrow. She ran through the city, screaming and sobbing at the news. We tried to calm her, to bring her some comfort, but there was nothing we could do. Her hysteria soon ended, but was replaced by a deadly silence. She no longer smiled, nor sang, and the people grew sad, for Ariethel's voice had brought joy to many. However, she found courage to carry on, for love of you. She would sometimes come to me and sit and would whisper, 'At least I still have my child,' and would stroke her bulging belly."  
"Did my father even know about me?" Elentari asked suddenly.  
Finduilas sighed and stroked the girl's dark hair, "No, I don't think he did. In his heart, he may have, but there is no way to know." Elentari sighed and nodded. Faramir could feel her sorrow, ebbing out of her young heart, and grasped her hand, letting her know that he was there.  
"A few months later, I returned from a trip to Amroth, a trip Ariethel did not make, to find her in labor. I rushed to the Houses of Healing and sat with her. Her delivery was especially difficult and soon after you were born, she died, living only long enough to name you and to make sure you were taken care of."  
"So if I hadn't been born, she wouldn't have died," Elentari stated simply.  
Finduilas was up in an instant, "Elentari. Don't think that you're the one who caused your mother's death. She gave up her life so you could have one. She wanted to, she chose to. It was her choice. She would not want you to doubt her. Please child, now I regret having told you the story. I did not mean to grieve your young life."  
"I am not grieved Nana, for I knew the death of my mother, but I take you for my mother," Elentari spoke.  
"Your mother loved you and if she were still here, would have raised you herself, but since she is not, I am doing it for her."  
"I love you Nana," Elentari said innocently, embracing Finduilas. Faramir jumped in and said, "I also love you, Nana."  
Releasing her children, Finduilas ordered, "It's long past your bedtime. Go my children. Go rest. Sleep in peace." The children went together to their own chambers. Finduilas murmured, "fúmë, hiniya*."  
  
*melda: my love  
  
*nana: Elvish word for "mom". Mother is amille, but nana is more endearing.  
  
*"fúmë, hiniya": Sleep, my children. 


	3. Shatter Shatter into a million pieces

A/N: Very short, but sad. I made it short because I thought it appropriate and it gives Finduilas her due. I promise the next chapters will be a LOT longer Please review! Encouragement! I know this is historically inaccurate, as Finduilas dies when Faramir is around five, but for my story purposes, she dies when he is seven, so Elentari still remembers her a bit. I try. I try. I own Ariethel and Elentari and I wish, Faramir, but no. He belongs to JRR Tolkien, along with everyone else. I will be updating like crazy, as I am on spring break, so please review!  
  
Chapter 3: Shatter. Shatter into a million pieces.  
  
"Where is Nana???" Elentari and Faramir asked frantically. Finduilas had not been in her room in the morning, nor had she been in the Houses of Healing, which she frequented the last few months, as she had been ill. The Healers had not known what to do with her, as they found nothing wrong with her in body. It seemed to them and to the people that Finduilas merely dwindled away, her spirit and hold on life fading by the day. "She withered in the guarded city as a flower of the seaward vales set upon a barren rock. The shadow in the east filled her with horror, and she turned her eyes ever south to the sea that she missed." Her beloved friend Ariethel's untimely death had pained her deeply and killed her spirit even more. By the winter, with the first snows, even Elentari and Faramir noticed their mother's frailty. They had worried, but Finduilas insisted there was nothing wrong with her.  
"Boromir, where's Nana?" Faramir asked.  
"I don't know. I'm looking!" Boromir replied frantically. The three of them weaved their way through the City, through the masses of people whispering and pointing, the flag at half-staff. Finally, the four-year-old Elentari saw Finduilas's maid, Valaina, who in turn, saw them, and beckoned them to her. She embraced them and then whispered, "Come with me." She led them up the levels, until they reached Silent Street, and the Houses of the Dead. There, they saw their mother, lying cold and still, her eyes closed for a final time, breathing no breath, with Denethor kneeling by her pyre, embracing the stiff body, sobbing. He had loved her, in his fashion, more than anyone else, save perhaps Boromir.  
All three cried out, "Nana!!!" They ran furiously towards her, refusing to believe that she was dead. Denethor ushered them away roughly, for he wanted to grieve for his beloved wife alone, not realizing that he was not the only that had loved gentle Finduilas.  
The children stood at a respectful distance, their tears flowing like the river Anduin, shining in the distance, flowing as it always had, oblivious to the sorrow of the heart-wrenched children. They had suffered so much loss, in such little time, at such a young age. Elentari especially, could not understand why. Why did Finduilas have to die? Mother had died already, and now Nana dies. The only mother she had known. Why? What did they do? What did I do? She didn't even say goodbye. Is it because we did something wrong that she didn't want to see us anymore? Maybe I did something wrong. These questions plagued the young girl as her tears rolled silently down her cheeks.  
Finally, Denethor stood, and it seemed that he became even grimmer and silent than he originally was, if possible. His expression was set and nothing could stir his pity. If he had to suffer, then everyone else did too. No one could have happiness or bliss when his beloved Finduilas was stolen from him. He walked away, to his tower, where he sat long in thought and mourning.  
The children made their way forward slowly and cautiously, twelve- year-old Boromir leading the way. On seeing their beautiful mother, her arms never more opening to them, never more greeting them with a smile in the morning, never more kissing and cradling them, Boromir and Faramir fell into heart-wrenching sobs. Elentari, however, knelt silently, no tear finding its way down her young and pale cheek. Her tears were spent, she could cry no longer. Their mother's maid, Valaina, pitied the children and through her own tears, guided them away from their dearly beloved mother. Elentari became cold and hard like stone, laughter never tracing her lips.  
  
Finduilas was laid to rest a few days later in a customary procession, all three children in attendance. One question lingered in Faramir and Elentari's minds. "How much grief could one's heart take before it would break? Shatter into a million pieces." 


	4. Bound together by grief

A/N: As I promised, longer. Elentari gets her other name here. The two songs in here are not mine, unfortunately. One is by the talented Enya, while the other one is by, like everything else I write about, the ingenious JRR Tolkien. Please review! Encouragement is needed for a poor, very bored girl trying to become a writer. Key word: trying, not succeeding.  
  
Chapter 4: Bound together by grief  
  
Finduilas's death, if nothing else, bound Faramir and Elentari together. They were almost always together, pouring over a book of lore, making music, or engaging in swordplay. Boromir taught his two younger siblings everything he knew in the art of swords, and they often engaged in mock battles, during which Boromir would come out with the upper hand. Sometimes however, Elentari and Faramir would bind together and defeat Boromir, or, play some trick on him.  
They were all deeply wounded by Finduilas's death, especially Denethor. He locked himself in his tower, deep in thought, foreseeing the doom of his City long before it occurred, but doing nothing to defend it.  
  
Once every week, Faramir and Elentari would visit the Houses of the Dead, where their mothers were buried. However, visiting Ariethel's grave would never be as heartfelt as Finduilas's, for with the passing years, the children's memories faded also. Elentari had never remembered her mother, only knowing the name and the story Finduilas had once told her and Faramir those many years ago, by the fire. What a joyful time it seemed to them now. As much as they loved Finduilas, she too, began to fade from their minds, becoming a memory of loveliness and bliss.  
  
Somehow, four years passed after Finduilas's death, four long, dreary years. Elentari was now nine, Faramir twelve, and Boromir, seventeen, in his mind, a man. He often left the City, with his father's permission and blessing, on missions with the rangers, leaving Faramir and Elentari alone.  
Returning from one of his numerous missions in Osgiliath and Ithilien, Denethor threw a marvelous feast for his elder son, whom he loved dearly, and was the only thing he held on to. Amidst the feasting, with many courtesans and women flouting themselves past Boromir, trying to catch his eye, music was called for.  
Faramir and Elentari were called forth, as it was widespread knowledge that the two of them were skilled in music and made each other better; Faramir with his lyre and Elentari with her fiddle, and both, with their voices raised in song.  
Upon the prompting that they could sing whatever they wished, they looked at each other knowingly, and as Elentari began to play, Faramir sang:  
I walk the maze of moments  
  
but everywhere I turn to  
  
begins a new beginning  
  
but never finds a finish  
  
I walk to the horizon  
  
and there I find another  
  
it all seems so surprising  
  
and then I find that I know  
  
You go there, you're gone forever  
I go there I'll lose my way  
If we stay here we're not together  
Anywhere is  
  
Faramir picked up his lyre and picked up right where Elentari left off with her fiddle, and in perfect harmony, Elentari sang:  
The moon upon the ocean  
  
is swept around in motion  
  
but without ever knowing  
  
the reason for its flowing  
  
in motion on the ocean  
  
the moon still keeps on moving  
  
the waves still keep on waving  
  
and I still keep on going  
  
You go there, and you're gone forever  
I go there, I'll lose my way  
If we stay here we're not together  
Anywhere is  
  
I wonder if the stars sign  
The life that is to be mine  
And would they let their light shine  
Enough for me to follow  
I look up to the heavens  
But night has clouded over  
No spark of constellation  
No Vela no Orion  
Faramir joined her. Their voices moved in perfect harmony: You go there, you're gone forever  
I go there I'll lose my way  
If we stay here we're not together  
Anywhere is  
  
To leave the thread of all time  
And let it make a dark line  
In hopes that I can still find  
The way back to the moment  
I took the turn and turned to  
Begin a new beginning  
Still looking for the answer  
I cannot find the finish  
It's either this or that way  
It's one way or the other  
It should be one direction  
It could be on reflection  
The turn I have just taken  
The turn I was making  
I might be just beginning  
I might be near the end.  
  
They finished the haunting tune smiling to each other, evidently pleased with their own performance. Fervent applause greeted them and many older musicians commented on such skill at such a young age. Only Denethor looked down upon them scowling, evidently not pleased with such an obvious display of affection for each other, even at such a young age. He had long seen the affection growing between the two, and foresaw what it would lead to, and his heart was filled with foreboding. A dance began, Boromir, never without a dance partner, as most young women were eager to appease the future Steward, danced the night away, with his father looking, pleased and proud at his eldest son.  
Faramir stayed with the musicians longer, with his lyre, not noticing Elentari slipping away.  
What seemed like hours later, he too slipped out, searching for his dear friend and sister. He found her alone, stretched out on her back, gazing at the stars of Varda Elentari, her namesake, her melancholy voice drifting with the wind. The moonlight radiated off of her, making her shine like the Silmarils.  
  
An Elven maid there was of old  
A shining star by day:  
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,  
Her shoes of silver-grey  
  
A star was bound upon her brows  
A light was on her hair  
As sun upon the golden boughs  
In Lórien the fair  
  
Her hair was long; her limbs were white:  
And fair she was and free  
And in the wind she went as light  
As leaf of linden-tree  
  
Beside the falls of Nimrodel  
By water clear and cool;  
Her voice of shining silver fell  
Into the shining pool  
  
Where now she wanders none can tell,  
In sunlight or in shade;  
For lost of yore of Nimrodel,  
And in the mountains strayed.  
  
The elven-ship in haven grey  
Beneath the mountain-lee  
Awaited her for many a day  
Beside the roaring sea  
  
Wind by night in Northern lands  
Arose, and loud it cried,  
And drove the ship from Elven-strands  
Across the streaming tide  
  
When dawn came dim the land was lost,  
The mountains sinking grey;  
Beyond the heaving waves that tossed  
The plumes of blinding spray  
  
Amroth beheld the fading shore  
Now long beyond the swell  
And cursed the faithless ship that bore  
Him far from Nimrodel  
  
Of old he was an Elven-king  
A lord of limb and tree  
When golden were the boughs of spring  
In fair Lóthlórien  
  
From helm to sea they saw him leap  
As arrow from the string  
And dive into the water deep,  
As mew upon the wing.  
  
The wind was in his flowing hair,  
The foam about him shone;  
Afar they saw him strong and fair  
Go riding like a swan.  
  
But from the West has come no word  
And on the Hither Shore  
No tidings Elven-folk have heard  
Of Amroth evermore  
  
"Isilmë," Faramir whispered. Elentari turned her head, not sensing him there, "What?"  
"Isilmë," Faramir repeated, "That is what I shall call you. The moonlight shines upon you."  
"Isilmë. Isilmë," she repeated it for a few times, then a smile appeared on her lips, "I like it. Thank you Faramir. It's a beautiful name."  
"Just as beautiful as you are," Faramir replied innocently. It was not a matter of flattery; he was merely speaking what his heart told him, as he always spoke the truth with her. He stretched himself out beside her and they looked upon the stars; the same stars Luthiên and Beren had those many years ago, in a past age, and sang softly together, until they drifted to blissful sleep. 


	5. Only Time

A/N: As I promised, longer. The beautiful song "Only Time" for which this chapter is named belongs to the talented Enya. I will be using many of her songs in my story as her lyrics tie in with Tolkien and my story, speaking of whom, owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind. Bit more Elvish in this one. Please don't be too harsh in the combination of words. I tried. I keep revising this chapter, adding a little this or that. Please review!!!  
  
Chapter 5: Only Time  
  
Swords clanged through the air. "One, two, three. Come on little brother. Surely you can do better than that," Boromir taunted good-heartedly. Filled with a newfound intensity, Faramir rushed at his brother. However, after a few more rounds, Faramir was still in the dirt, his brother with the upper hand. He yelled frustratingly.  
"You're shifting your feet too much, giving him too much ground," a quiet voice pointed out from aside. Faramir turned, with a scowl, to the speaker, who was sitting on a rock by the fountain, with a book of Elvish lore, intently studying it.  
"What do you know?" Faramir asked sourly.  
"I watch. Sometimes we can't see what's wrong when we're in it. You need to not be involved. That's why we have mentors," Elentari replied.  
"Le ar saila pella loalla,*" Boromir murmured to the twelve-year-old girl.  
Faramir, still pouting, said, "Fine Isilmë. Then get out of your books for once and come battle me."  
"I would be honored," the girl bowed, "Though I would require my own sword, as Boromir's is too heavy for me."  
"Well, then go fetch it," Boromir ordered. She carefully marked her place in the book, placed it on the rock, and ran, her dark hair trailing in the wind.  
"You do know that she is right, of course," Boromir pointed out. Faramir sighed, threw his sword aside and said, "When is she not?"  
"That is a good question," Boromir replied. Faramir picked up the book she was reading, looked at it, and sighed heavily, "I still have not finished this book, and I am a lover of lore far more than you and any other men of the City."  
Sensing his brother's frustration placed a hand on his shoulder, "Do not worry yourself, little brother, the Elven blood runs through her veins. She was gifted in lore, as you are."  
Just then, Elentari ran back, panting, but ready to do battle.  
"Are you ready, my lord?" she mocked, bowing at Faramir.  
"Save your courtesy for when you are begging me for mercy," was the reply she received.  
"Wait, wait. Before we begin this blood fest, I would like to make one thing clear. I do not wish to be responsible or liable in any way if either, or both of you do not make it out in one piece. Being the eldest, it is my responsibility. So if you two don't mind, please, I implore you, if only for my sake, don't kill each other. Restrain yourselves, as much as you wish to hew each other to pieces," Boromir pleaded.  
"Don't worry brother, I will spare him today," Elentari answered, mischievous light flickering in her eyes. Faramir looked so angry and humiliated that he was going to explode, or worse, implode.  
Boromir counted and then left the pair to themselves. Within a few moments, Faramir was pinned on the ground, by Elentari, half his weight and size, and three years younger.  
"Do you yield?" Elentari teased sweetly.  
"Never," Faramir groaned as the sharp blade teased his arm. She would have had it by his neck, but not wanting to hurt him by intention or by accident, she restrained herself.  
"Faramir. Come on lad, you're bigger than her! Gain the upper hand!" Boromir urged.  
"It's not as easy," Faramir gasped, straining from the effort, "As you would think." No matter how hard Faramir struggled, the slender figure atop of him would not let him gain his feet. Boromir cheered for both his brother and his sister. His sister. That was what she was known to him as, yet deep down in his heart, he knew that she was not his sister. As he watched Faramir struggle beneath the girl, he knew that she might one day be of other relation to him.  
"Faramir. You shame me. Can you not triumph someone as slight and small as your sister?" A cold voice asked bitterly. All three looked to see Steward of Gondor, Denethor, their father, standing in the courtyard watching the fest.  
"Father," Boromir breathed. Elentari felt Faramir tense beneath her, as she hurried to rise, letting Faramir gain his feet, as Denethor inched closer to them.  
"No," Denethor barked, "Elentari. You stay there. Show him no mercy. I wish to see how this useless son of mine will get himself out of his predicament. Honestly, if you cannot triumph over someone small and slight as your sister, who loves and shows mercy on you, how will you ever fight those ferocious Orcs who would sooner see you dead than anything else?"  
"Father, Faramir was merely letting me gain the upper hand. I would be begging for mercy if he had really showed me his full strength," Elentari pleaded for her brother, knowing Denethor's wrath on his younger son and how much Faramir craved his father's praise. Though these words stung, Faramir felt grateful to her for trying to cover up for him.  
"Very well then. If he was merely playing, then let me see him now in full strength. Let neither of you show mercy for one another and see who gains the upper hand and who will be groveling for mercy," Denethor ordered. Elentari looked back at Faramir with a sympathetic look. Faramir however, had his gaze fixated on his father with a look of pure obstinance. His jaw was set, his will determined. With an immense effort, he flung Isilmë up from over him, and in the same, swift movement, before she had even landed on the ground heavily, had her pinned down, his sword grazing her graceful neck. With an air of triumph, he gazed at his father stubbornly. Denethor merely scoffed and turned away, "Boromir. Come with me. We will be requiring you in Osgiliath for a number of days." Even at his young age of twenty, Boromir had already proved himself a mighty warrior, like King Earnur of old, delighting chiefly in arms. After Denethor and Boromir vanished in the distance, Faramir turned back to Isilmë, still pinned on the ground, a bit shaken from the hard landing inflicted by Faramir.  
"Faramir, if you don't mind, I would find it quite relieving if you would remove your sword from my neck," she requested, still a bit dazed.  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Faramir had forgotten all about it.  
"Hannon le*," she said dryly, rubbing the back of her head, "Will you remember to do me a favor? The next time Father challenges you; will you please remember that it is Father angering you, not me? That way, you will actually take it out on him, not me?"  
"Sorry," Faramir replied sheepishly.  
"It's quite all right. All will be forgiven if you get off of me and help me up." Faramir just realized that she was still pinned to the ground, and quickly got off, and pulled her up, "My apologies, Isilmë."  
"So, I take it as you have not had a very pleasant day," she said.  
"Ah, and I take it you have acquired stating the obvious as another one of your numerous talents," Faramir sneered bitterly.  
"Well, other than being chastised by Father, what else has gone wrong?"  
"I would hardly call that chastising, more like insulting," Faramir snapped.  
"Ai, Faramir, Father is only harsh on you because he loves you, and he wishes no harm to come to you."  
"If he loves me so, why is everything I do wrong to him?"  
"Just because he disapproves of something doesn't make it wrong, toronya*," Isilmë said gently.  
"Then why is what Boromir does always right?"  
"Because Boromir has strengths that you do not possess, just as you have some that he does not."  
"Well Father obviously does not see or value my strengths," Faramir complained.  
"He sees them, and a day will come when he values them," Isilmë comforted. Seeing Faramir was still unconvinced and frustrated, she murmured, "roum, nar inye uin*."  
Faramir smiled through his frustration, and touched her hand.  
"What would I do without you," he breathed.  
"You would have no one to beat you in swordplay," she replied teasingly. He cried indignantly and leapt up.  
"I would fight you again, yet I fear Father will see and come chastise you again. May I suggest a ride on the Pelennor?" Isilmë offered.  
"I was just about to say that." Faramir and Isilmë leapt up and made their way to the stables. After saddling her horse, Talcalina, Lightfoot, Isilmë leapt up upon her, and awaited Faramir.  
"Come on Faramir. Do not always make me wait," she teased, but her words would carry a deeper meaning in the future than she would have ever guessed.  
He mounted his horse Cirion, named after the great Steward of old, and they raced out of the great Gate that guarded the City, onto the Pelennor, unaware of any danger. They let the wind whisk them away, becoming one with their horses, urging them on, faster and faster. They would have reached Osgiliath, or even shining Anduin, at that pace, but Isilmë, letting her sense ride up and catch her, stopped them both.  
"Father will have both of our heads if we ride out any further without his approval. We are nearly at Osgiliath; there it lies beyond the river. We must turn back, how ever much we wish not to, we must," she chided gently.  
"Must we always seek his approval?"  
"Toronya*, may I remind you that you are the one who was most desperately seeking it just some minutes ago?"  
"Le ar saila pella loalla,*" Faramir echoed the words of Boromir earlier that morning.  
"Inye harya voronwa linnin loalla*," she replied, her face grave. Dusk was quickly creeping upon them, the sky a vibrant myriad of colors. They turned their horses around, and rode hard back to Minas Tirith, letting the horses take them, forgetting all of their sorrow and plight for a time.  
After they had unsaddled their horses and fed them, a Tower Guard hurried to bring them a message.  
"My Lord Faramir, my Lady, the Lord Denethor wishes your presence in the Tower," he stated.  
"May I inquire as to the occasion?" Elentari questioned slyly.  
"He did not say. One could only guess it is a farewell to Lord Boromir, who is leaving in the morn for Osgiliath, but it is not my place to say."  
"Hannon le*," Elentari thanked and motioned the man away. They made their way to the Tower of Anor, to Denethor sitting talking to Boromir merrily. Upon their entrance, his face grew grim, and he beckoned to seats near him.  
"Good evening Father," Faramir greeted solemnly. Once they were seated, their food warm and welcoming in front of them, Denethor inquired, "May I inquire where you two were this afternoon?"  
"We went out riding," Faramir answered, looking at Isilmë for support.  
"Yes, after you left with Boromir, my Lord," she added.  
"Oh, riding," Denethor repeated bitterly, "In the City?"  
Boromir, Faramir, and Isilmë realized the trap that their father was setting. Only Isilmë found the voice to speak, "No Father. We rode out on the Pelennor. It was my idea and Faramir merely followed my lead."  
Her attempt to shield Faramir from Denethor's wrath backfired.  
"So, Faramir of Gondor, you are now not only losing to a woman, you are taking orders from one," he scoffed, "And your brother thought you could join the Rangers. I think not. How do you ever expect to amount to anything? Ah, I rue the day my lovely Finduilas brought such a useless son into the world." By now, tears were threatening Faramir's eyes, and at the mention of his mother, he turned away, not allowing Boromir or his father to see his tears. Only Isilmë saw and her heart grieved for him. She gave his hand a squeeze to show him support.  
Denethor however, was obviously not oblivious to his son's strife, but did not seem to care, "Buried deep in the tower libraries. I would burn those books to keep you from them. What use will lore be when the armies of Mordor come to destroy us? You cannot tell Orcs the tales of Valinor and expect them to care. "  
"Father, Faramir is not the only one who studies lore," Isilmë defended.  
"You will never meet them in battle, Elentari. You will never face those Orcs out there in the Wild, where there is no aid to be found, only life and death. There is no harm in you studying those things, though you would do well to learn some craft of womenfolk, not immerse yourself into Elven lore and swordplay with this hopeless son of mine."  
"With all due my Lord," Elentari brought up the title to silently show Denethor her repugnance at his words, "If I am not mistaken, you yourself possess the largest collection of books of lore of all Gondor, second only to Master Elrond of Rivendell. If I remember correctly, when Nana was still alive, you used to tell me stories of Westernesse, of the Kings of old."  
Boromir stared wide-eyed at the defiance of his young sister. Faramir, through his suppressed tears, smiled and was grateful for her, challenging Denethor, as no one had dared, since Finduilas's death, and giving him time to collect himself.  
"Bedtime stories will not destroy Mordor," Denethor snapped.  
"There is a time for warfare and a time for peace and reflection," she replied calmly. Denethor scoffed and then said, "If we don't make it past the warfare, we will never get to peace."  
Boromir could not take the tension any longer and was afraid Denethor and Isilmë would let the argument ruin their relationship, cut in, "There is also a time for eating. I am famished. For my sake, please let me enjoy my last meal in the City for a while in peace." Denethor gazed at his foster daughter with icy, cold eyes that would've pierced right through the girl, had she not been questioning Faramir silently, her loving eyes needed no words to see the pain in his heart.  
In his heart, Denethor was proud of his foster daughter, though angry with her for her unmistakable lack of respect. She reminded him of Finduilas, of her gentle yet firm defense of Faramir. She would fight for what she loved, and she loved Gondor, loved him, loved her brothers, and especially loved Faramir.  
"I am leaving in the morn," Boromir told his siblings, trying hard to steer the conversation into safe waters, breaking the tense silence that ensued, with Denethor lost in his thoughts, and Elentari offering Faramir silent support.  
"To Osgiliath?" Elentari asked.  
"Yes."  
"How long will you be gone for?" Faramir asked, finally controlling himself.  
"A few weeks. As long as I am needed, at least," Boromir answered.  
"And what are you needed for?" Elentari asked, worry clouding her young face.  
"Just border patrol. There have been some Orc parties daring enough to cross into our lands, but never fear, we'll chop them to pieces so they'll know never again to do it!" Faramir seemed to be satisfied by this answer, but Elentari still looked worried, her eyes clouded.  
Boromir sensing her anxiety, touched her shoulder and said, "Do not worry about me. I shall be fine. Besides, remember that no one can defeat Boromir of Gondor in swordsmanship, except his little sister." Elentari smiled and hugged him.  
  
Late that night, when the City was asleep and Lady Elbereth's stars were shining bright, Faramir tossed and turned in his bed, sleep eluding him. Finally, he threw his covers off, along with any attempt of sleep, donned a robe, and made his way silently out of his room. Across the corridor, he saw a sliver of light in the darkness, coming from beneath the door. He knocked quietly, hearing no response, slipped open the door just a sliver. He saw Isilmë standing by her open window, singing softly, bathed in moonlight, as she had been that night many years ago when he had first called her that name. As he gazed upon her, a tender feeling within his heart stirred. It was a feeling he had never known before and he did not know what it was, only that she looked beautiful caked in the moonlight. He stood frozen by her door for a moment, fixated on her as this new, beautiful feeling filled his heart. He moved toward her, closed the door behind him silently, and heard her song.  
Only night will ever know  
Why the heavens never show  
All the dreams that are to know  
Paint the sky with stars  
  
Night as brought to those who sleep  
Only dreams they cannot keep  
I have legends in the deep  
Paint the sky with stars  
  
Who has paced the midnight sky?  
So a spirit has to fly  
As the heavens seem so far  
Now who will paint the midnight star?  
  
Place a name upon the night  
One to set your heart alight  
And to make the darkness bright  
Paint the sky with stars.  
  
Faramir stood behind her the moment the last note left her lips. She sighed as it faded into the night, and sensing his presence, leaned her head against him, reaching just above his shoulder.  
"Why such sorrow, selernya*?" Faramir asked.  
"I could not sleep, for I was plagued by my behavior tonight," she answered.  
"Why?"  
"I forgot my place utterly, I should not have spoken that way to Father, for it is by his grace that I live day to day."  
"You were defending me. I am the one to blame," Faramir comforted. She shook her head mournfully, "Father was wrong in reprimanding you, yet it was not my place to speak with him like that. I could defend you, without becoming so disrespectful."  
"Can we not talk about Father? The whole situation makes me hot- headed."  
"He is your father, not mine, no matter how much we pretend."  
"It irritates me how he will listen to no one's counsel but himself. He has the gift of foresight, and what he sees fills him with horror, yet he will do nothing to stop it. He sees no hope and he will allow others to have none as well."  
"man hanya amtul?*" Isilmë asked.  
"erlummë,*" Faramir replied. Isilmë smiled at the name of the familiar tune and began to sing:  
Who can say  
Where the road goes  
Where the day flows  
-Only time  
And who can say  
If your love grows  
As your heart chose  
-Only time  
  
Who can say  
Why your heart sighs  
As your love flies  
-Only time  
And who can say  
Why your heart cries  
When your love lies  
-Only time  
  
"Love," Faramir thought of this familiar word. He loved Isilmë. She was his sister, of course he loved her, but that feeling in his heart when he looked upon her now did not easily go away as much as he tried to dismiss it.  
Nevertheless, he joined her in song:  
Who can say  
When the roads meet  
That love may be  
In your heart  
And who can say  
When the day sleeps  
If the night keeps  
All your heart  
  
Night keeps all your heart  
  
Who can say  
If your love grows  
As your heart chose  
-Only time  
  
He was her brother, nothing more, or was he? All she knew was that she could not bear seeing that look of pain in his eyes that night with Denethor. She loved him, she knew that, but as what? Just a brother, or more?  
And who can say  
Where the road goes  
Where the day flows  
-Only time  
  
Who knows-only time  
Who knows-only time  
  
She couldn't, or at least didn't want to tell, so she waited, time, time would show.  
  
* Le ar saila pella loalla: You are wise beyond your years.  
  
*hannon le: Thank you  
  
*toronya: my brother  
  
* roum, nar inye uin: But I value them.  
  
* Inye harya voronwa linnin loalla: I have suffered much for my years.  
  
* selernya: My sister  
  
* man hanya amtul?: Who can tell what the future holds?  
  
* erlummë: Only time 


	6. Home, for a short time

A/N: Not as long. I could have written more, but I thought the ending here was more appropriate. I'm planning that the next chapter will be a lot longer. Wow! I actually went a whole chapter without putting in a song, but I could have. Very tempted. Please review and tell me if you like all the songs in there! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind. No Elvish, sorry! Didn't see a place for it. Please review!!!  
  
Many thanks to the reviewers, especially "totallyobsessedwithLOTR" or "Araniel" as she calls herself. Thank you for the encouragement and I'm glad I made you cry (as wrong as that seems). And to 'Jazmin 3 Firewing', of course I know I'm going to have to demolish gasp Faramir and Isilmë's relationship. That's why the story is called Forsaken. Thanks to all the reviewers! Keep R/R!  
  
I redid this, as people were complaining that the format was screwed up! Hope it's better now!  
  
Chapter 6: Home, for a short time  
  
Seasons pass one by one, and with them, the years, swift for Men. The White City looked upon their Lady one morn and realized, with her family, that this was not the same infant girl that had been carried through the streets at her mother's funeral, nor had it been the young girl standing mournful at the burial of the only mother she had known. Isilmë Elentari was a woman, a young woman perhaps, but a woman.  
At sixteen, her dark, black hair swirling in the wind around her, grey eyes looking ever south and west to the Sea; the white sands with Ulmo diving in the depths. She had been granted visits to Dol Amroth several times in the past years and though she loved it there, for it gave her the much-desired freedom the guarded Minas Tirith did not, she never lingered for too long, always returning to her City. She loved the freedom, the lush green, and the Sea that Amroth gave, but something in her heart always pulled her back to Minas Tirith. Imrahil looked upon his young kinswoman with adoration, but she never lingered long in that city, missing her home.  
Denethor pushed his younger son into the Rangers once he had reached age, but Faramir had never been gone from the White City for more than three days, but growing to love Ithilien, he desired to stay in the woods for longer, yet something in his heart also held him back.  
It was from one such occasion when Faramir had been in Ithilien for two days, when he rode back through the Gate, with Mithrandir.  
Hearing the Tower Guard's call, Isilmë flew through the City, from one level to the next, into Faramir's waiting arms. Faramir breathed in her scent, like that of the morning dew on flowers, and was reminded of Ithilien, though she had never set foot in that fair region. Once they released each other, Isilmë teased, "You seem happy, toronya, far happier in the Wild than here."

"How could one be happy when they are not with you?" was his reply. She merely smiled, a thin smile that never reached her eyes, like she seemed to foresee something in the future that would negate his claim, and shook her head. She looked over at the gray, old man standing by them, intently watching. She bowed, taking him for one of the Istari. "This is Mithrandir," Faramir introduced.

"One of the Istari," Isilmë breathed.

"Yes, and you are Finduilas's foster daughter. Blossomed a bit since I last saw you as a babe, eh?" the old man asked, grinning.

"Have you come to see my father?" Isilmë inquired.

"Your father?" Gandalf looked a bit puzzled, but then realization dawned on him, "Oh, Denethor, of course. I suppose so, though I would find his halls less welcoming to me of late."

"You have come at a good time. He seemed to be happier today, than I have seen him in a long time. I just served him his breakfast, and he is eating right now."

"Father is never in the mood to converse when taking his meals," Faramir added.

"That depends on the company," Isilmë corrected. At this, Faramir frowned, reminded of his father's disapproval with him. Isilmë regretted her words, but could not find any more in comfort. She wound her way, leading them to the Citadel, where Denethor sat alone amongst the cold, hard stone.

"Hail Denethor, Steward of Gondor," Gandalf said upon entrance. Denethor did not raise his head nor did he acknowledge their presence.

"Greetings Father," Faramir breathed softly. At this, Denethor looked up, into his son's soft blue eyes, cold and hard, as if he wished to pierce Faramir's will.

"Elentari," he called, and she moved forth, "Did I not tell you I did not wish to be disturbed at my meal?"

"My Lord, that was a week ago, and you saw Boromir a few days ago during your midday meal. I did not think that were the case now," she apologized.

"Foolish girl. Fetch me some wine."

"Denethor. I did not ride through wind and rain to stand here in your hall ignored and unwelcome," Gandalf said.

"If you would think that you were ever welcome in my halls, Mithrandir, then you are even more of a fool than I thought you were," Denethor replied, his voice steely, his gaze piercing, yet Gandalf stood unmoved. "And you," his gaze directed at Faramir, "Back so soon?"

"Yes."

"Being a Ranger does not mean running back to the comfort of home every two days," Denethor snapped.

"I am not fully in the service of the Rangers yet," Faramir held his gaze.

"Very well. Then you soon shall be. Now get out of my sight." Faramir trudged away, with Isilmë motioning to follow. "Stay here," Denethor beckoned to her. Mithrandir continued to attempt to converse with Denethor, as she watched and tended to the aging lord.  
  
Hours later, when Denethor finally dismissed her, Isilmë weaved through the city, looking for Faramir. She found him sitting in their gardens, sharpening his sword. He looked up to see her, and sighed. She sat beside him, dropping her head upon his shoulder. He placed an arm around her, sheathing his sword, and weaved his fingers through her thick hair.

"I missed you," Isilmë whispered.

"And I you. Do you know how hard it is to sleep out there? And especially without your voice lulling in song."

"Glad to see you remembered me out there."

"How could I not?" Faramir asked, a smile playing upon his lips, "How have you fared?" "Miserably," she answered truthfully, "Yet I should not be complaining."

"What have you been doing?"

"Waiting for you," she replied, "Every night, I sit by my window, singing a song, gazing at Ithilien, willing Cirion to appear out of the midst carrying you on his back," she said, "The Tower can become quite lonely if you have no one to talk to."

"Silent and cold," Faramir added, almost to himself.

"Yes. The library has forever banished me, or at least Father has willed them to. I stand by him and serve his needs now. It isn't hard work, but I long to be out riding with you or Boromir, yet both of you are gone. My only comfort is that you should return every few days, but that will soon not be so."

"Yes. I will be spending more and more time out in the wild," Faramir said, his voice half regretting, half rejoicing.

"You love it out there." It was a statement, not a question. "I see it in your eyes."

"Yes, it is beautiful, yet can be lonely, without your songs. Yet my love for Ithilien shall never surpass my love for another, who dwells in the Tower of Anor, lonely and cold."  
  
"Do not mind me. Such is the life of a woman," Isilmë replied.

"Yet it should not be."

"Yet it is."

"You would love Ithilien, with its trees, birds, and flowers."

"It can be a dangerous place."

"Yes, it can be, but most of the time it is beautiful, just as you are."

"When will you be leaving again?" she asked.

"Probably tomorrow or in two days time."

"For how long?"

"I do not know. Father wants me to stay out longer, as the other Rangers do. Probably as frequent as Boromir then," Faramir said, sorrow clouding his eyes a bit.

"I shall miss you," Isilmë said.

"I wish you could come with me," Faramir breathed.

"You know Father would never permit it."

"He would never permit you to travel with me, but perhaps with Boromir," he thought, an idea blossoming in his head.

"Oh no. What are you thinking now? I know that look on your face. What mischievous errand that will get us both in trouble are you planning now?"  
  
"You could come out to Ithilien. Boromir could ask, and Father would probably give his assent."

"Faramir. You know how hard it will be to persuade Boromir to do that?" she tried to talk him into reason, but it was plain that she was quite pleased with the idea, as she longed to walk in the Sun and in the trees, not trapped in a tower of cold stone. Finally, Faramir agreed to forget the idea for a time, yet it dwelled in the back of his mind. Fatigue finally catching up to him, Faramir yawned and lay down across the grass.

"You would think that being in the woods for so long, you would want to sleep in your own bed," Isilmë said.

"It's pretty out here," Faramir replied childishly, already nodding off to sleep. Isilmë nodded, and then lay down beside him, head upon his chest, rising and falling with each intake of breath, and soon, both were contently asleep. One was exhausted from his ventures in the Wild, and plagued by homesickness. The other had been unable to sleep well, plagued by nightmares and by loneliness, with just the darkness to accompany her, slept well for the first time in a while.


	7. Our night, you and I

A/N: A LOT longer. I think my longest chapter thus far. A lot of songs in this one. Reviewers, please tell me if you like all the songs, or you would rather have less! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind. Some Elvish. This chapter is the one that earns this story the PG rating, I suppose. Was tempted to raise the rating, but denied myself. I have now come up with the ending of the story, and I feel that 'Jazmin 3 Firewing' shall be very pleased.  
  
Many thanks to the reviewers, especially "Araniel", who has really encouraged me. To 'Jazmin 3 Firewing', of course I know I'm going to have to demolish Faramir and Isilmë's relationship, but I am not doing that yet. This chapter foreshadows her end, though, and this is basically the turning point for it. I'm enjoying her fictional life as long as possible! Thanks to all the reviewers! Keep R/R!  
  
Chapter 7: Our night, you and I  
Late at dusk, Boromir returned to the City also, and for him, Denethor ordered an elaborate dinner. After much persuasion from his elder son and foster daughter, he finally consented to have Mithrandir at the dinner table, out of what Boromir put as "common courtesy".  
Gandalf sat silently, without a word at the table. Denethor would have thought that he was finally accepting Denethor's hostility and keeping silent for fear of conflict, but that was not the case. He was observing the young Lords of Gondor, and their Lady, especially the latter.  
She served them all food before sitting down to her own, next to Faramir, who offered her a smile, which she returned. Both Boromir and Denethor noticed, but the reactions of father and son were drastically opposite. Boromir laughed to himself, happy that two so dear to him were happy together. He smiled at the way they seemed to understand each other and cared for one another, and it filled his heart with warmth. Denethor however, looked at them grimly and coldly, believing that such a love would not last and could not stand the endurance of time and his wisdom would prevail, to some extent.  
After the meal was done, Boromir called for music, and the minstrels played their pieces, but Boromir seemed unsatisfied. He called to Isilmë and his brother, "Come, sing your brother a song," he coaxed.  
Faramir was a bit reluctant, fearing the wrath of Denethor, but seeing the good-natured grin on his brother's face, could not say no. He fetched his lyre while Isilmë handled her fiddle with the usual grace. "What do you wish to hear, my Lord?" she asked formally.  
"Anything you wish," Boromir replied, with a glance to his father. With a look to Faramir, she struck the first passage on her fiddle, and upon hearing it, he continued on his lyre, and she sang:  
Strange, how my heart beats  
To find myself on your shore  
Strange how still I feel  
My loss of comfort gone before  
  
Cool waves wash over  
And drift away with dreams of youth  
Time is stolen  
I cannot hold you for long  
  
Faramir joined the song, and their voices enmeshed perfectly to create a heavenly melody:  
And so this is where I should be now  
  
She sang, "Days and nights falling by," and he echoed, "Days and nights falling by me."  
I know of a dream I should be holding  
Days and nights falling by  
Days and nights falling by me  
  
He sang alone, his blue eyes full of love fixated upon her face:  
Soft blue horizons  
Reach far into my childhood days  
As you are rising  
To bring me my forgotten ways  
  
Strange how I falter  
To find I'm standing in deep water  
Strange how my heart beats  
To find I'm standing on your shore  
  
She joined him:  
And so this is where I should be now  
  
Echoing each other: Days and nights falling by  
Days and nights falling by me  
  
I know of a dream I should be holding  
Days and nights falling by  
Days and nights falling by me  
  
The music slowed, and stopped:  
Strange how my heart beats  
To find I'm standing on your shore.  
  
As their voices faded into the night, their gazes were locked in each other's. His blue eyes were filled with a fire, the fire of love. They clearly showed his love for her, his need for her, while her sea-grey eyes reflected his desire.  
"There are three things I miss out in the wilderness," Boromir said, breaking the moment, "The food, the company, and the beautiful singing of the two of you." Isilmë smiled gratefully, barely managing to tear herself away from Faramir's intent gaze. "Thank you Boromir. We miss you here, when you're gone."  
"I miss you, little sister, and your songs," Boromir replied.  
"Mithrandir," Isilmë suddenly addressed the wizard, lost deep in his thoughts, but taking in everything around him, "Do you sing?"  
"No, my young Lady, I do not, at least, not as well as you," Gandalf answered.  
"Come, sing us a song," she beckoned. Gandalf shook his head. After Isilmë's persistence, Gandalf finally offered an alternative, "How about this, my persistent lady, why don't you sing another song for us? A song that you think befitting for an old man like me, and I will join you and learn it in the end." Isilmë seemed convinced and flattered by the suggestion. She struck up a tune, and the minstrels followed.  
Pilgrim, how you journey  
On the road you chose  
To find out why the winds die  
And where the stories go.  
All days come from one day  
That much you must know  
You cannot change what's over  
But only where you go  
  
One way leads to diamonds,  
One way leads to gold  
Another leads you only,  
To everything you're told  
In your heart you wonder  
Which of these is true?  
The roads that leads to nowhere,  
The road that leads to you  
  
Will you find the answer in all you say and do?  
Will you find the answer in you?  
  
Each heart is a pilgrim,  
Each one wants to know  
The reason why the winds die  
And where the stories go,  
Pilgrim, in your journey  
You may travel far,  
For pilgrim, it's a long way  
To find out who you are...  
  
Pilgrim, it's a long way  
To find out who you are  
  
As she finished, Gandalf applauded, a twinkle in his eyes. Denethor was grimmer than ever, a scowl firmly appearing upon his face.  
"Who taught you that song?" Mithrandir asked.  
"I read part of a verse in a book of lore years ago, and I sort of wrote my own verses to accompany it and a melody. Well, Faramir helped me with the melody, for he is far better with that than I am."  
Faramir smiled, "It is hard to rival you in your use of words. Such eloquence would rival the Elven masters of old."  
"If only Faramir were far better than others in swordsmanship and valor against the Enemy, not dwell in libraries writing tunes for songs of folly," Denethor's icy voice pierced through the warm cloud of love. Faramir looked down, determined not to let his father ruin this night. It was their night, his and Isilmë's, and he was not going to let his father ruin it, let alone get to him. He would not be home for a long while, and he was going to share his last day and night with her, regardless of what his father said or did. Boromir started talking again, to cover the uncomfortable silence that ensued. Faramir reached beneath the table to clasp Isilmë's hand, who smiled and gave his a squeeze. Denethor finally retired, after scrutinizing his younger children closely, warning them in his gaze, of what, they did not know. Gandalf sat outside, smoking his pipe, his thoughts straying to another land. Boromir bid them a fair night and chastised playfully, "Do not stay up too late. And don't do anything you might one day rue."  
"Sleep, brother," Faramir ushered. Boromir gave Isilmë a playful smile, winked, and murmured, "If he tries anything, Elentari, just scream, and I'll be there."  
"Sleep, toronya*," she echoed Faramir. Finally, Boromir disappeared into the comfort of his room, leaving the couple alone. They sat in silence for a while, in the dim candlelight, losing themselves in the embrace of the other.  
"Faramir," she breathed softly.  
"Yes?" he replied, his face buried in her soft hair, taking in her familiar scent.  
"Might I suggest we move out of the corridor, as it is near midnight, and two shadowy figures out in the darkness may be taken unfavorably, by a passerby."  
"Hmm, I suppose so," Faramir murmured, unwilling to pull his head out of her hair and shoulder.  
"Come on, melda*," she moved toward her room, dragging him along. She pulled open the door silently and moved in. Faramir tapped the door close with his foot. Melda. She had called him 'her love'; her love, not the usual toronya, my brother, but my love. Faramir heard her words and felt he was in bliss.  
Isilmë stood behind her window, as she always did, bathing in the moonlight watching the stars, wishing she could be among them, instead of trapped behind the window. Her hands were upon the white wood of the sill, her face almost pressed to the glass so that her breath was seen upon it. Faramir stood behind her, the top of her head reaching his chin, which he placed upon her head. She felt him slip his arms around her waist and could feel his chest rising and falling behind her with each breath he took.  
"inyë melme le*," he breathed.  
"ar inyë le*," was the loving response. Those words ignited such a joy in his heart that he felt he could fly like Earendil of old. Silence ensued.  
"Take me to Ithilien with you," she whispered suddenly, pleading with him, "Please. Take me with you. Take me to a place where I can look at the stars without being behind bars."  
"I can't. I wish I could, melda. I wish I could. I wish I could take you with me wherever I went," he regretted, stroking her hair.  
"Please Faramir. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to stay within stone, trapped. Please, let me free. Take me with you," desperation in her voice. Her weakness tore his heart apart, and it killed him, hurt him more than any Orc arrow, to see her suffering, but he could not help her. He wanted to, but he could not.  
"I wouldn't stay in Amroth for you were not there. I came back to Minas Tirith because I knew you would be here. I left the Sea. I left the waters of the Sea. I left the swirling tides," she muttered, sounding for the first time since Finduilas's death, like a child-afraid. A dark wave of foreboding swept over Faramir's heart. He would lose her. He would lose her to the Sea. She had Elven blood, which meant she had the Elven longing that was perilous to stir. She had visited Dol Amroth, had been at the Sea, and now he would lose her to it.  
"Now you will no longer be here at Minas Tirith. There is no sense in returning, except out of love for Father, and for the comfort of familiarity. I cannot go to Ithilien, but I can go to Amroth. Yet I am not happy there," she continued to stammer, almost to herself, by now, turning, her back to her beloved stars, holding on to Faramir desperately, like a stiff breeze could blow her away from him forever. Tears were threatening her eyes and she made no effort to conceal them. She had concealed them for too long, hid her loneliness for too long, put a mask over her melancholy. She felt ashamed of herself for showing such weakness. She did not know where all this: all these feelings, all these tears came from. They just flowed out from her, like an obstinate current that could not be stopped, bottled up from all her years of loneliness and grief, now overflowing. Faramir could feel it pouring out of her heart, as he felt her tears soaking his shirt. He could find no words to comfort her, merely held her, which was all she wanted, all she needed. Her slender body wracked with her heart-wrenching sobs.  
"I'm sorry Faramir. I'm so sorry. I do not know where all this came from," she apologized, choking on her tears.  
"Shh," he cradled her in his arms, "I promise you. I will build a home for you in Ithilien one day. I promise," he vowed, but little did he know that he would one day do that for another. "There, you can look at the stars every night, without being behind bars. You can fly through the woods without thoughts of turning back. You can let the wind sweep you away. You can be free, Isilmë," he promised. She smiled through the tears and kissed his cheek. Using one finger, he tenderly brushed away a tear trickling slowly down her cheek, and then cupped her face in his hands.  
"I love you. I do not care what Father or Boromir or any one else says. I love you, my Isilmë," Faramir whispered.  
"And I you. I will wait here in Minas Tirith for your return," she promised, looking down, as her heart did not want to. Though it was her home, she hated it in the White City, the white stone city. Faramir lifted up her chin and placed a kiss upon her lips. She smiled and returned it, though this time they did not part. They kissed passionately, ardently, as if they needed to draw breath from the other.  
When they finally parted, which seemed like ages later, Faramir teased, "Now I know why Elves and Dwarves hate each other. You can't stand to be inside the cold stone."  
"I love Minas Tirith. It is my home. It's just that I feel trapped in the City, without sunshine or trees. Sometimes, especially at night, I feel a shadow creeping upon me and I feel like the stone walls are enveloping me, trying to suffocate me."  
"That is why you gaze at the stars at night," Faramir breathed, knowing now why she stayed by her window every night.  
"Yes, Lady Varda gives me strength to carry on."  
Faramir sighed and shook his head, "You should have been raised in Rivendell, or Lóthlorien. Not here. Not in the city of stone."  
"Hey, trying to get rid of me?"  
"Never. From a selfish standpoint, I am glad you are here, but I hate to see you suffer."  
"I'll be fine," Isilmë ensured him, though in her heart she did not believe it, "Besides, when it gets to where I can't stand it, and you're no where in sight, I'll visit Amroth for a few days."  
"Do you like it there?" Faramir questioned and intently looked into her eyes, knowing he could see the answer there.  
She thought about it for a moment, "It's beautiful there. The Sea, it's breathtaking. The green, the trees, the lomelindë*. It's beautiful," she described, her eyes gazing south, "but it's not home."  
"Where is home?" Faramir asked quietly, hoping she would not answer what he thought she would-the Sea.  
"Home is where the heart is, where you are," she replied gently. Their lips met again and this time, Faramir did not remember when they parted.  
  
He awoke the next morning, finding himself in Isilmë's bed, still fully dressed. He looked over to find her still sleeping, her face content and sorrow less. To him she looked beautiful, at peace. He leaned over, and planted a kiss on her cheek. She stirred a little bit, uttered a little groan, and nestled her head between his shoulder and head, as if to block out the sunlight. Faramir wrapped his arms around her and felt this was the way he could stay forever, with her. He fell into a light doze until he felt her stir beside him. He opened his eyes to see her blinking unsteadily, willing her eyes to become accustomed to the light.  
"manë arin, melda,*" he said, smiling at her appearance. Her right eye was larger than her left, as she was barely awake and her sleep-tousled her curled around her face like a frame.  
"Hmm," was the only response he received. She groaned, stretched herself out, and tried to hide her face in his shoulder, not wanting to awaken.  
"Come on Isilmë, it's mid-morning," he coaxed, failing to restrain a laugh at her sleep-ridden appearance. She moaned and shook her head violently and buried her face further into his shoulder.  
"Why do we have to get up?" she groaned as she finally succumbed to consciousness, at least somewhat, as her eyes were still firmly shut.  
"Because we cannot spend the whole day in bed," Faramir said.  
"Why?"  
"Because Illuvatar willed it when he created the race of Men," he said, laughing at her unwillingness to rise.  
"Well if I ever meet Illuvatar I shall certainly bring that up as a complaint," she pouted, finally opening her eyes and looking at him. He smiled, finding her beautiful even in her half-awakened state.  
"Come melda, you have to get up sometime," he enticed, kissing the tip of her nose.  
"I don't want that sometime to be now. Besides, I'm still dressed," she said glancing at her attire from the night before.  
"As am I," Faramir replied.  
"Fine. Since I am awake now, unfortunately, thanks to someone here," she said, putting particular stress on the word 'someone', "Can we not get up? Can we just lay here until someone comes and yells at us like they did when we were younger?"  
"I remember. We would go swimming in the pond and we would stay there for hours at a time, almost missing dinner, until Father or Boromir sent someone looking for us, which most often lead to a lecture or scolding."  
"We could never miss dinner. You would always be hungry," she smiled, remembering the good old days.  
"As I am now," Faramir said, a smile encircling his lips. He felt that when he was with her, he couldn't help but smile. Upon hearing his reply, Isilmë rolled her eyes.  
Just then, a knock was heard on the door, "Elentari! Are you in there? You have to be. I haven't seen you all morning."  
"That would be Boromir. Right on cue," she sighed. "Yes I am in here, as it is my room."  
"Are you dressed? Can I come in?"  
"I am dressed, but no, you cannot," she replied. However, the door opened, "Too late," Boromir said, a grin upon his face. However, upon seeing Faramir there, he froze, his eyes scanning the two of them, from the covers of the bed, to their faces.  
"I see you never did make it back to your room, Faramir," Boromir said. Faramir could only grin sheepishly.  
"Well, Father has been asking for the two of you. He came to your room in the morning, and when he found no one in there, his eyes darted to your door Elentari, and he scowled, and then turned and stalked away," Boromir informed. Elentari and Faramir merely glanced at each other, knowing that their father would be angry.  
"I guess we really should get up now," Elentari murmured, frowning. Faramir grumbled in assent, kissed her brow, and rose. He quickly left the room into his own. Elentari grumbled and got up from her own.  
"If you don't mind Boromir, I kind of want to change my clothes, so can you, um, kind of, get out?" she asked.  
"Oh, uh yeah, but I have been meaning to have a talk with you," Boromir said.  
"What about?"  
"You and Faramir."  
"Oh," she looked reluctant, "Well, let me change and I'll meet you in the hall in a few minutes."  
  
When she emerged a few minutes later, wearing a flowing gown the color of the sky, with her dark hair running along her waist, even Boromir, who did not care for women, had to admit she looked beautiful. He offered his arm and they strolled along the gardens.  
"So, what is this talk about?"  
"The relationship between you and Faramir," Boromir answered, his face serious.  
"What about it?"  
"Do you love him?" Boromir asked, facing his sister, looking her hard in the eye.  
"Of course, more than anything," she replied.  
"As what?"  
She thought about it for a moment, "As a friend. As a brother, as a— Boromir cut her off, "As a lover?"  
"Yes," she replied firmly.  
"Does he feel the same way for you?"  
"What do you think, brother?"  
"What I think does not matter, for this is not my relationship we are discussing. Does he love you?"  
"Yes."  
Boromir nodded and began walking again, his face deep in thought.  
"Boromir, what is it?" Elentari asked, not understanding why her brother was suddenly asking her these questions.  
"What happened last night?" he asked suddenly.  
"We gazed at the stars and sang songs. I didn't want him to leave for Ithilien, so I begged him to stay, even though both he and I knew he couldn't. We fell asleep some time later," she narrated.  
"Did he make love to you?" Boromir asked.  
"He told me he loved me, but no, he did not," she replied, her face growing hot.  
"Elentari, Father will never allow such a love to endure," Boromir said plainly, "When he came by this morning, there was something I did not tell you when Faramir was here. He stared at your door with a scowl on his face, and then, seeing me, he uttered, 'this shall not be tolerated.'"  
"Why? What is so wrong about it?" she cried.  
Boromir took her hands in his and pressed them together, "Elentari, Father will have my head for telling you this. He has plans of marrying you off soon. There already have been suitors to see him, as you know there are many eager to have you by their side."  
Elentari looked infuriated, "How can he marry me off without even telling me about it? He has been seeing suitors without my knowledge. Who's being married? Him or me?"  
"I suppose he will tell you. He wants to have you pick on your eighteenth birthday, but now all this with Faramir, you can see why he is displeased."  
"Why? So I can't be a pawn for future alliance? Because for once something isn't going his way?" she cried.  
"Hush, Elentari," Boromir enticed, as he had when she was younger, "This is why I was hesitant to tell you. Please do not breathe word of this to Faramir. He will confront Father, which will reveal what I've told you, and it will only further determine Father to separate the two of you." Elentari was about to argue further, when a Guard came, summoning them to Lord Denethor.  
Faramir was already there, when they entered. Denethor wished both his sons well on their missions, and ate his meal. Boromir and Faramir walked out to the lowest level, and saddled their horses, alongside Elentari, who by now, was controlling tears threatening her eyes.  
Boromir swept her into his embrace, and murmured, "Remember what I have told you, but do not act upon it. I shall see you soon, little sister."  
"May the grace of the Valar be upon you," she returned, "Be careful, Boromir." He nodded, swung on his horse, and turned away, leaving Faramir and Elentari alone, to bid each other farewell.  
Elentari kept her eyes fixed on the floor. If she kept staring at the brown dirt, instead of into his warm, blue eyes, she wouldn't cry, or so she thought. Faramir, using one finger, gently raised her chin so that she would look at him.  
"Don't leave," she whispered, choking back tears.  
"I must." She nodded, knowing he was right.  
"I will wait for you. The day will come when Cirion appears out of the horizon, carrying you on his back, carrying you home to me," she pledged. Faramir nodded, pressing her hand to his lips, "I love you, my Lady."  
She did not answer, for she could not. As hard as she tried to restrain it, one stubborn tear found its way down her cheek. Faramir wiped it away tenderly with his finger, and then kissing the spot lightly.  
"I love you," she whispered as they embraced. After what seemed like ages, Faramir knew he had to go; he had to leave her. He mounted his horse, grasped her hand. She unfastened a chain from her neck and pressed it in his hand. Faramir looked down at it; it was Ariethel's wedding present from Finduilas many years ago, and Elentari had worn it all her life, a crystal gem encircled by a rim of gold, that held Elvish inscriptions. Years ago, Elentari and Faramir had deciphered the message, and found it to be an Elvish prayer to Ulmo and Lady Varda to guide them with her stars across the Sea.  
"Take it. Take it with you," she said, pressing it into his hand.  
Faramir nodded, and attempted clumsily to fasten it around his neck. She laughed and took it from him, and bending his head, fastened it securely around his neck and whispered, "May it remind you of me, that there is always someone waiting for you at home."  
"I need not this as a reminder of you. I cannot think of anything but you," he said, giving her one last kiss, "Namarië, melda*." Elentari watched him ride out with Boromir and stood, watching them grow smaller and smaller in the distance, until at last the horizon swallowed them, vanishing. She had left one part of her heart at the Sea, and now the other part was riding towards Ithilien, with Faramir.  
  
* toronya: my brother  
  
* melda: my love  
  
* inye melme le: I love you  
  
* ar inye le: and I you  
  
*lomëlinde: nightingale  
  
* manë arin, melda: Good morning, my love  
  
* namarie, melda: Farewell, my love 


	8. Sail home to me

A/N: Short chapter. Another Enya song, this time called "Exile". Fits the story eh? Reviewers, please tell me if you like all the songs, or you would rather have less! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind. I make Denethor seem a bit more humane in this one.  
  
Many thanks to the reviewers. To 'Jazmin 3 Firewing', I am keeping Isilmë alive for as long as possible. Thank you for the ending, and I will perhaps take something from it, but it was a good idea. My ending will be a LOT sadder. Thanks to all the reviewers! Keep R/R!  
  
Chapter 8: Sail home to me  
  
Elentari did not even notice the door opening, letting in a wisp of the icy cold air, as she sat alone by the fire, staring into it. She barely noted someone sitting down beside her quietly, his heavy footsteps leaving imprints of snow on the ground.  
"Elentari," the deep, grim voice murmured. She turned her head sideways, so her gaze met the elder man, but her eyes were not there, nor was her heart.  
"Yes Father?"  
"You are lonely," the Steward stated, knowing it as a fact, his voice was kindlier than it had been since Finduilas's death.  
"I miss them," she said simply and almost to herself, "I miss him."  
"I suppose this Tower can be quite lonesome and even frightening for a young maid like you," Denethor said, the idea never occurring to him before.  
"Not frightening. Lonesome, I suppose," she said aloud and to herself, "Smothering, definitely."  
"They have been gone, what, two months?"  
"Almost three," she corrected, "A season."  
"Not that long. Not as long as I used to in the days when I was a Ranger," Denethor said. Elentari could not help but smile as she pictured a young Denethor in the wild.  
"How long since you last visited Amroth?"  
"Four months. I returned when the leaves turned gold."  
"Do you desire to see it again?" Denethor asked, wanting a truthful answer.  
The girl thought about it for a moment, and answered cryptically, "I desire to be elsewhere, but to look upon the beauty of Amroth and the Sea would do my heart well."  
"If you will, Prince Imrahil sent a messenger requesting your presence."  
"If my Lord grants me leave, I should very much like to visit," Elentari requested formally.  
"You have leave. I visited Amroth, in the days of my youth, courting Finduilas. I never saw any beauty there, but there must be some, as my ladylove left her heart there and now, my beloved daughter seeks comfort there," Denethor said, his voice quiet and kind, as kind as Elentari had ever heard him. She was touched by how he called her his 'beloved daughter', but wished he would show the same affection to Faramir. She looked upon his aging face and saw the pain etched within the lines. However, Denethor quickly closed up like a clam, unwilling to let anyone pry him open again.  
"Amroth is lovely, Father, and the Sea is calling," Elentari confessed.  
Denethor sighed and touched his foster daughter's shoulder, "Le na sië ve rya. Nya Finduilas. *"  
"I miss her," Elentari confessed. Denethor nodded and said, "She loved you."  
"As well as Boromir," she added softly, "Especially Faramir." Denethor scoffed lightly hearing his younger son's name and shook his head.  
"Father, why do you treat Faramir so?"  
  
"He is useless and shameless. He would rather spend his time in the library with you than defend our borders from Orcs," Denethor spat.  
"Faramir merely does not seek glory and danger without a purpose. If the need rises for valor and battle, he will meet it gloriously. He doesn't go looking for it though. He isn't reckless," she defended, though quiet, her voice was filled with fiery intensity.  
"Do not trouble me with Faramir," Denethor ordered, his face grim and cold once more. He rose and spoke coolly, "When shall you leave for Dol Amroth?"  
"If weather permits, tomorrow afternoon, after the midday meal," Elentari replied.  
"I leave you now. I shall retire," Denethor said, his face bleak once again, taking his departure, leaving Elentari alone by her fire once again. After gazing into the fire for what seemed like hours, lost in thought, Elentari looked to her window and saw Tilion* appear from behind the clouds and the first stars twinkling in the distance. Her eyes turned south to Ithilien, and beyond, Amroth and the Sea. She dwelt not on the Sea, but returned to the part of her heart somewhere in the wild of Ithilien. She wondered what he was doing at that moment, if he could not sleep either. Did he remember her? With all these thoughts flowing through her head, she sang:  
Cold as northern winds  
In December mornings,  
Cold is the cry that rings,  
From this far distant shore  
  
Winter has come too late  
Too close beside me,  
How can I chase away?  
All these fears deep inside  
  
Faramir lay sleepless, the cold midnight breeze pushing back his dirty blonde hair. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. They had been ambushed by a pack of Orcs and though they had come out victorious, four men lay injured and their piteous moans filled the air. He looked up at the stars and remembered all the times he and Isilmë had watched them together, singing. Knowing that they were looking up at the same stars brought comfort to his lonely heart. He missed her and was homesick for Minas Tirith, but did not want to admit it. Other than that, there was a big root sticking up from the ground beneath his back that was making it very uncomfortable to lie there. He sighed and thought of his own comfortable bed at home. He lay there thinking about home and Isilmë when he heard her song drift through the air. It was more of his imagination than reality, as none of the men seemed to have heard it but him, but nonetheless, it was there. Hearing her voice gave him comfort and by the lyrics, he knew that she was thinking about him and missing him, as he did her.  
I'll wait the signs to come.  
I'll find a way.  
I will wait the time to come.  
I'll find a way home.  
  
My light shall be the moon.  
My path the ocean  
My guide the morning star  
As I sail home to you.  
  
Who then can warm my soul?  
Who can quell my passion?  
Out of these dreams, a boat  
I will sail home to you.  
  
I will sail home to you.  
  
* Le na sie ve rya. Nya Finduilas: You are so like her. My Finduilas. 


	9. The Sea

A/N: Short chapter. Wow! No songs!! I'm so proud of myself, I suppose. Reviews! Please tell me if you like all the songs, or you would rather have less! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind. Araniel belongs to my most faithful reviewer, and I hope she doesn't mind me borrowing the name. I was thinking of a name for the character, and I couldn't, so I was like, "hmm. Maybe I could use hers!" Hope you don't mind! If you do, just let me know and I'll change it immediately. Thanks reviewers! Keep at it!  
  
Chapter 9: The Sea!  
  
The white sand felt smooth beneath her feet, the wind rustling through her dark hair, which swirled around her like a robe. Her eyes, which gazed far beyond the horizon, matched the grey waves of the Sea, with just the white foam washing over her feet, in which she was looking.  
She was lost, lost in the white foam breaking at her feet. Lost in the cry of the white gulls that flocked around her, threatening to shatter her heart with their calls. Though the Sea gave her heart comfort she had not felt in months, it filled her with longing and made her feel so small, so unimportant, against its vast expanse.  
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a soft voice stated beside her. She was drawn out of her reverie by this sudden voice.  
"I'm sorry. I did not mean to frighten you," the young woman apologized.  
"It's alright Araniel," Elentari said. This young woman from Amroth had taken a liking to Elentari since she came to their city and they had become fast friends. Elentari liked the girl, a year her junior, for she was full of an energy for living that Elentari lacked and longed for. She had never seen such enthusiasm at every and any task performed. She was full of constant chatter, which many of her own kin found extremely irritating, but Elentari didn't mind. She wanted, needed something to fill the cold, silent halls of Minas Tirith she had left in body, but not in spirit. Elentari filled Araniel with a wonder. She admired the older girl for her gift in song and lore and for her loyalty and love for her city and her family. The sorrow she often fleetingly glanced in Elentari's eyes intrigued yet mystified her. She did not understand what could cause such melancholy, but did not want to ask; for fear that Elentari would turn away from her. Elentari did, however, do a good job of concealing her sorrow, yet it was not all an act. Amroth and the Sea had filled her heart with bliss. She still missed Faramir and longed to see him, but her sea longing pushed that feeling down. Her eyes gazed back out into the vast expanse of grey-green. So vast, so beautiful, so mystifying, so luring. She longed to see what was at the end of it, or just to be in it, feeling the cool waves wash over her until she knew no more, all grief gone. "It's almost lunchtime," Araniel said, "We should go." Elentari forced herself to pull her eyes away from the luring Sea and mounted her horse to ride back to Amroth. Upon return, Imrahil was awaiting her luncheon. "Ah, my dear cousin," he greeted, "You actually returned. I was afraid we would lose you to the Sea." These words washed over Elentari with a wave of foreboding, for it was exactly her fear, though her heart ached to see it through. As they ate, Imrahil inquired about Boromir and Faramir and told her his memories of Finduilas and Ariethel, though he was but a child when they were still in the City. Araniel sat nearby, her eyes upon Imrahil admiringly. "What do you plan for the afternoon?" Imrahil inquired. "What does your fair city have to offer?" "Anything you wish, my Lady." "I wondered if I could go riding, since I have not since Faramir left," she hesitated a bit when she said his name, not wanting to feel the searing pain through her heart again, "Unless you have other suggestions." "No. That's a brilliant idea. I haven't been riding for ages. I can go with you, if you care for it," Imrahil said whole-heartedly. "That would be delightful." After they finished their meal, Imrahil, Elentari, and by Elentari's insistence, Araniel went to the stables. Talcalina stood waiting for Elentari, thrusting her proud white mane back as her owner approached, her hoofs pounding the dirt, restless. As Elentari fastened her saddle and bridle, the horse neighed and pushed her head near her master's. "I know you're restless girl. As am I. We have not gone out for too long. Too long have we sat in the shadows of Minas Tirith. Today, we shall be free," she said, stroking the white mane. They mounted and as the guard opened the stable door for them, there was no stopping Elentari and Talcalina. The horse bound out, as if from chains, and would not stop running as quick as her name, light foot. Elentari had no objection and it seemed to everyone watching that they ran as if they were fleeing from some dark shadow threatening to engulf them, and in fact, they were. Imrahil and Araniel trotted along to follow them at some distance, leaving them to have their long-desired freedom. They flew through the woods, racing the very wind as they soared through. They leapt over babbling brooks, through the fragrant flowers, past the towering trees. When they finally stopped, Elentari realized where Talcalina had brought her, the Sea. The horse would have bounded right into the waves if Elentari had not finally reined her back. She dismounted, kicked off her boots, and took Talcalina's reins, and they slowly walked towards the water. When the first waves crashed gently upon her feet, Elentari felt a tingle go up her spine. It was hard to describe what the feeling was. It was satisfaction mixed with elation, with a tinge of longing. They walked into the waves, until Talcalina was around knee-high and did not want to go any farther, and Elentari was up in her waist, her long white gown soaked. She undid her dark hair and let the wind blow it freely and dipped it in to the green water. When she resurfaced, she caught a glimpse of Araniel and Imrahil standing upon the shore, watching her closely. She dipped her head back into the water and opened her eyes to the mysterious underwater world. As she was about to resurface for air, she heard a distant voice that seemed to call her name. She looked about wildly, not knowing where the voice came from, but knowing it was below her, a whisper, a thought. "Elentari," the voice whispered her name, "Come to us. Stay here with us. The Sea calls you, calls you home. You belong here." "Who are you?" she thought, as she could not speak underwater. "Lady of the Sea, Airëtari. When the time comes, you will join us." And with that, Elentari resurfaced, gasping for breath. She swam back to shore, a bit reluctantly, for she had never felt so at peace, so serene and satisfied, than those brief moments. Imrahil looked at her soaked from head to toe and clucked his teeth disapprovingly. "I'd never be able to go down there like that," Araniel said admiringly. "Let's hope you never do," Imrahil said. "The Lady," Elentari gasped, still in shock, "The Lady. Lady Uinen." "What?" "She spoke to me," Elentari whispered. "What? What are you talking about? I think you've been in the water too long," Imrahil said. "No. I heard her clearly. She told me that I would one day join her in the Sea," she murmured, afraid of what these words foretold. "Let's get you back to Amroth," Imrahil said a bit skeptical of her story. They mounted their horses and returned to the City. 


	10. Come back

A/N: Three songs. Two from Tolkien and the last just a little freestyle on my part. Hope you like it. Reviews! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind. Araniel belongs to my most faithful reviewer, who is being generous enough to let me borrow her and twist her personality to which that will benefit my story. To the reviewer Araniel, thanks for the idea for the "ear" issue. Thanks reviewers! Keep at it!  
  
Chapter 10: Come back  
  
When Tilion's moon was shining in the sky, Elentari sat with Araniel, her head leaned against the trunk of a tree. Under her request, Imrahil had ordered a room that was filled with freshly picked flowers and the ceiling was made of glass, so nothing prevented her from gazing at the stars.  
"Do you miss home?" Araniel asked.  
"A bit, I suppose. I miss the people," Elentari answered, "Minas Tirith is a beautiful city, but too much stone. No trees. No life, not like here."  
"Who do you miss? I have heard talk that Lord Denethor is not at all pleasant," Araniel said naively.  
Elentari smiled, though her eyes were sad, "He is a difficult man at times, to understand. But nevertheless, he is a good man, and a good father, though strict at times. Too harsh on his son," she added the last sentence almost as a thought to herself.  
"His son? Boromir the brave? I thought he doted upon him."  
"Nay. Denethor loves Boromir, his elder dearer than life itself. Faramir, sweet, gentle Faramir is the one he scorns," her gaze softening as she spoke of the younger.  
Araniel noticing, "Your beloved?" Elentari nodded after a bit of thought, "I suppose you can call him that."  
"What would you call him?"  
After a bit of thought, "My life. My salvation."  
"Salvation from what?" Araniel asked. She didn't want to be rude, but she wanted to know what caused Elentari such sorrow, and felt that she was on the right track.  
"From answering the call," she replied softly, hesitating, "the call of the gulls."  
It finally struck Araniel. She had heard tales of the longing of the Elves and the call of the Sea, "You're part elf aren't you?"  
"I have Elven blood, from my mother's side," she replied, her eyes straying to the distance, where the waves met the sand.  
"From Lady Nimrodel of old?"  
"That is what they say."  
After a bit of thought, Araniel asked, "Is that why you come here? I mean, to Amroth."  
"I suppose. That and much more. Minas Tirith is the city of stone. Amroth is beautiful, trees, lakes, birds, flowers, and the Sea. What are you looking at?" as Araniel was looking at her oddly, straining her neck.  
"Your ears! Are they pointed?" "What?" Elentari asked, taken aback. She instinctly put up a hand to feel her ear. "Strange question. I never thought of that." "It is a bit!" Araniel exclaimed triumphantly. "I suppose so. Never noticed it in Minas Tirith. I had other things to do, within those walls of stone." "I would love to see it. It seems so magical," Araniel whispered dreamily, causing the older girl to laugh.  
"It's beautiful. I love it, as it is home, but I just feel trapped within the walls. Not like here."  
"Eh, it gets boring."  
"Ah, folly. People don't know what they have until it's gone, beyond their reach," Elentari sighed, her eyes dimming again.  
"I suppose. I don't know. It just seems to me that everything in Gondor is so much more exciting," Araniel dreamt. Elentari smiled, almost ruefully.  
"Araniel," she murmured gently, "Please. Don't throw away what you have for something you don't know." It was advice Elentari murmured to herself every day. She did not know truly know the Sea, only felt it was better than Minas Tirith.  
Araniel sighed dreamily and said, "You're so lucky. Faramir seems so perfect."  
"He is," Elentari smiled, seeming content for the first time that day.  
"I've never seen many men of Gondor. A few years ago, before I reached twelve summers, a messenger came. He seemed to handsome, and tall."  
Elentari loved the naiveté of this girl and her dreamlike stance.  
"Well, if your father allows, I will take you back to Minas Tirith with me when I leave."  
"Would you?" Araniel suddenly withdrew from her trance and became lively and animated. Elentari wished she could have that energy that traced every feature of Araniel's face.  
"Yes. If your father allows."  
"He will! Oh Elentari!! It will be so exciting! You must show me around, introduce me to everyone, especially Faramir!" Elentari was happy the girl was so excited, but her face grew grave at the mention of Faramir's name, "He may not be there to welcome you. Father wants him out long."  
"Well, when do you wish to return?"  
"I would love to stay until the blossom of spring withers, but my heart tells me that I cannot."  
"Well, spring is almost here. The weather has turned this past week," Araniel said.  
"Yes. Spring here must be beautiful, as even the winter rains are," Elentari dreamt wishfully, "Not like Minas Tirith. Stone has no seasons."  
"Ah, folly. People do not know what they have until it's gone," Araniel repeated Elentari's words from earlier. Elentari smiled and threw a pillow at Araniel, hitting her as she was stretching for a yawn. Araniel threw it back and a small pillow fight erupted, until Elentari stopped, "The hour grows late and we are both weary. Sleep now." Araniel reluctantly consented and left for her room.  
Lying in her bed, facing upwards, as she was now able to gaze at the stars without going to her window, Elentari thought of Faramir, if he was looking at the stars at that moment also. She felt that they connected them, those bright, ethereal flames in the distance.  
A! Elbereth Githoniel  
Silivren penna miriel  
O menel aglar elenath,  
  
Githoniel, A! Elbereth  
We still remember, we who dwell  
In this far land, beneath the trees  
The starlight on the Western Seas  
  
She sang this in token to Lady Elbereth herself, Varda Elentari. Then, another tune struck up in her mind:  
In western lands beneath the Sun  
The flowers may rise in Spring.  
The trees may bud, the waters run,  
The merry finches sing.  
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night  
And swaying beeches bear  
The Elven-stars as jewels white  
Amid their branching hair  
Though here at journey's end I lie  
In darkness buried deep,  
Beyond all towers strong and high,  
Above all shadows rides the Sun  
And Stars forever dwell:  
I will not say the Day is done,  
Nor bid the Stars farewell.  
  
She fell into a content slumber right when the last note left her lips and she dreamt. Dreamt, of the Sea. Dreamt of Faramir. Dreamt of everything dear to her heart.  
  
Weeks later, when spring was in full blossom, the flowers gold, purple, red, white lying about the paths, birds chirping happily, songs of life and hope, a rider from Gondor arrived, his face traced with panic and drenched in sweat from hard riding. Elentari had just been enjoying the tranquility of the gardens when Araniel ran in looking for her.  
"There's a rider! A rider from Gondor. He's looking for you. He looks really worried and says it's urgent." Elentari did not question her at all, picked up her dress and ran.  
When the rider saw her, he rushed forward, "My Lady Elentari. You must come home, quick! We must leave now."  
"What has happened? Slow down. Tell me what has happened," she ordered, trembling.  
The man sat down, sighed and said slowly, "The Rangers made it back to the City today, at least some of them did. They had been attacked in Cair Andros and badly outnumbered, lost a number of men." Elentari did not like where this was going.  
"Many were wounded and the remainder of the men quickly retreated, getting the wounded on horses and running for Minas Tirith. This happened four days ago and they finally made it back this morning."  
"Who was injured?" Elentari whispered, afraid of the answer.  
The Gondorian soldier, lines of weariness etched in his face, sighed and slowly said, "The Lord Faramir was among those fallen. He was rushed to the Houses of Healing, but it seems there is nothing they can do for him. I was sent to hurry here and come get you, as delirious, he has called for you."  
Elentari felt her feet leave the floor beneath her. Imrahil, who had entered, steadied her and she felt for a chair.  
"How bad is it?" she finally managed to whisper, breathless.  
"The Healers can't find anything to help him. They say it was a Southron poison dart. My Lady, we must leave quickly."  
"Yes. Bring me my horse. Let us go," Elentari said, no color in her face.  
"My Lady, your things!" Araniel reminded.  
"I will come back for them, or send someone for them. We mustn't waste any time. Imrahil, I am sorry. Thank you for everything you've done."  
"Don't think on it. Hurry back to your City before it is too late," Imrahil said, "I'm sure he'll be fine. May the Valar be with you." Talcalina was fetched and saddled and after bidding Araniel and Imrahil farewell, Elentari flew out of the City, racing the wind. Talcalina, sensing her master's desperation and impatience flew faster and faster, soon leaving even the soldier behind, who rode hard to keep up. When they finally slowed down for a short rest, that Elentari was reluctant for, the soldier whose name was Gumlin, inquired, wiping the sweat off his brow, "Where did you learn to ride like that? You would rival the best horse masters of Gondor. One would think you were of the Rohirrim."  
Elentari smiled through her anxiety, "My brothers often took me out. Faramir and I would race from the gates of Minas Tirith to the river, just before Osgiliath."  
"Who won?"  
"I did," she shrugged a bit guiltily, "When we were younger, he would, but after a while, Talcalina never let me down." They mounted their horses again, and vowed that they would not stop until they entered the Gate.  
When they finally did, ages as it seemed to Elentari, she urged her horse up all the levels, past all the people, and a small child, scurrying aside, looking frightened at the swift horse almost trampling him. Immediately, gossip ensued after she past by. Gossip about their relationship; gossip about Faramir's condition, and overall, the family of the Steward.  
She dismounted her horse, patted her, and ran faster than the wind into the Houses of Healing. She met Ioreth, the wise woman at the entrance and literally screamed at the old woman frantically, "Where is he? Tell me! Where is he?"  
"Inside, my Lady, the very back. He is behind a screen." Elentari almost slipped running as her body lunged forward quicker than her feet. As they saw her approaching, the healers quickly came out to meet her. They led her quickly to his bedside, unconscious, his brow drenched in sweat, hands icy cold, like the last drips of snow that had managed to cling on to winter's chill, despite the recent warmth.  
"Faramir," she breathed falling to her knees beside him.  
"He was hit by a Southron dart not four days ago," a Healer told her, "We have removed it, but the poison lingers in his body. He is fighting a darkness that threatens to take him. He has not awoken since he entered the City, and the Rangers tell us that he lost consciousness about three days ago, when they began riding hard. He has said nothing, but call your name, my Lady a few times, in his delirium, but that was a few hours ago."  
Elentari held tears back, closed her eyes for a moment when she heard the healer's words, and grasped the limp, icy hand, "I'm here Faramir. Please come back to me. Don't leave me."  
"Lord Denethor came by once, just recently left."  
"How can he not stay? How can he not be here when his son is mortally wounded?" she moaned piteously, "Please Faramir. Don't leave me. I have lost too many I love already. Not you too."  
Anyone, even cold Denethor, sworn to not let any pain touch his heart after Finduilas's death, would have been moved to tears by the scene. She looked so helpless, begging, pleading with him to come back to her, while he lay there, equally vulnerable, seemingly oblivious to her pleas.  
Finally, a murmur escaped Faramir's lips, "Isil--, he couldn't finish.  
"I'm here Faramir. Come back to the light. Come back to me." The healers held different herbs to the wounded man, applying them to his wound and allowing him to smell them. The room was revived with the scent, and a few other wounded rangers moaned. Elentari raised her head, for the first time realizing that Faramir was not the only wounded man.  
"How are the others?" her gaze never straying from Faramir's face.  
"They are recovering. A few are wounded badly and one has died since morning.  
"Does he have family?" she inquired, knowing the pain that they must be in.  
"Yes. His mother, an aging woman living on the third level, and a young wife of four months."  
"Give me directions to their abode. I wish to visit them,"  
"My Lady, why?"  
"Because I know what it feels to lose, and I do not wish for them to grieve alone," she said simply, her gaze never leaving Faramir's ashen face. "Yes, my Lady." Calling his name so many times did no avail, so succumbing to despair, feeling fever creep upon him, she sang words deep from her heart.  
  
When you were gone  
I dreamt of you  
Feeling your touch  
Hearing your voice  
You were so close  
I could feel you  
Then I opened my eyes  
You were gone  
  
Now you're here in front of me  
Yet you don't know you are  
Your mind flying somewhere else  
Somewhere I am not  
Your soul gone, drifting in the clouds  
Only your stiff body lies here  
  
Come back to me, melda  
Don't leave  
Don't go where I can't follow  
Come back to me, my love  
My love given only for you  
My life lived only for you  
  
The last rays of light left the City, beyond the horizon, as the shrouded moon began to make himself known and the crickets fiddling. Elentari was kneeling by Faramir's bedside, as she had been since the early afternoon, whispering and singing to him, pleading with him to come back to her.  
A Tower Guard entered, without her notice, "My Lady Elentari. The Lord Denethor requests your presence at dinner this night."  
"How can he eat when his son is here, burning his way to Mandos?!" she screamed, shocking the Guard and the Healers, for none in the City, save Faramir, had ever seen Lady Elentari lose her composure.  
"I do not know, my Lady. I was merely told to come fetch you."  
"Well please send this message to Lord Denethor," she replied coldly, her eyes full of icy revulsion at the Steward of Gondor's apparent heartlessness to his younger son's peril, "That I will not eat until Lord Faramir is able to, nor will I sleep until he awakes, and if the Steward had half a heart, he would come see his son." The Guard seemed a bit shocked, bowed formally, and made his way back to the Citadel.  
"Faramir. Come on Faramir. Come back to Minas Tirith, even though the Steward is a heartless despot."  
"Or is it just his heart dwells with another, long gone, far away," a cold voice said steely. Elentari immediately knew it was Denethor, yet she did not regret her words.  
"You rejected my request, and you did not come to see me when you entered the City," Denethor accused.  
"I found other appointments more pressing, my Lord," she replied coldly.  
"Would you be so heartless as to deny your father?"  
"Would you be so heartless as to watch your son die without doing anything?"  
"Faramir will not die."  
"How can you be so sure?" her face pained to see Denethor's apparent heartlessness. Denethor merely shrugged and said, "You will join me for dinner."  
"No. I will not eat until Faramir is able to,"  
"Faramir will not want you to starve yourself to death while he is incapacitated," Denethor said, "Now come."  
"I will not be able to stomach anything knowing his condition," she returned obstinately, refusing to leave his bedside.  
"You will not know until you try," Denethor commanded, his icy eyes flashing, "Now come." Elentari felt herself being pulled up and taken out of the room. She wanted to cry out, but suppressed herself. Finally, she was seated in the Citadel, facing Lord Denethor. As food was set in front of them, Elentari felt a wave of nausea wash over her.  
"Eat," was the command. She picked up a spoon and tried to ladle some broth into her mouth, but could not swallow. She could not take her mind off of Faramir lying there, cold, though burning with fever, alone, and helpless.  
"How was your visit to Amroth?" Denethor asked.  
"Pleasant, until the news arrived."  
"Did the Prince send any message to me?"  
"No. He did not mention anything," was her prompt response, and her tone signaled she was tired of the conversation. Denethor, however, ignored her tone.  
"Elentari. You are blossoming into a fresh young woman. Naturally, there are those within this City and out, who are interested in your hand. What are you, seventeen now? Hardly a child; my plans are to, on your eighteenth day of birth, hold grand festivities, to present you to the public."  
"And why should I be presented like a portion of roast beef upon a platter?" she snapped.  
"Elentari, every young woman has one of these. I myself first looked upon your mother, Ariethel and dear Finduilas on their celebration. They held it together, as they were born within hours of each other."  
"What is the purpose of such a celebration?"  
"To make it known to the world that you are a woman, ready for the burdens and delights of a woman's life," Denethor said, choosing his words carefully.  
"And those burdens are?"  
"Marriage. A husband. Family. Children. A household."  
"So basically this celebration is to show the world that I am ready for marriage. To invite suitors into the City, looking for my hand," she paraphrased, her temper flaring, remembering Boromir's words.  
"Yes."  
"Then my Lord, if that is the case, I suggest you save the time and expenses. I will not marry, unless it be to the man who holds my heart, and you know fully well who that is," she said coldly, and with that, set down her spoon, with all the grace and ease she could muster, which took all the self-control she had drilled herself to through the years, and ran back to the Houses of Healing.  
Denethor sat there, a surprising sneer on his face, "I am afraid, young one, that this will not be within your control." 


	11. Rest

A/N: One song, by LeAnn Rimes. Hope you like it. Reviews! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind. Faramir, to my great angst and sorrow, does not belong to me. His lovely character belongs to Tolkien and his fair countenance-David Wenham, who also unfortunately, does not belong to me. Thanks reviewers! Keep at it!  
  
Chapter 11: Rest  
  
In the depths of the cloaked night, as the clouds covered the moon and shrouded the stars from her view, Elentari lost all hope of Faramir awaking. The stars were what guided her through her days and now; even they faded in the night, leaving her alone and cold.  
She thought of what Denethor had said, and Boromir's warning. She was to married off. A pawn, a pawn in a strategic game; that was what she was. She was a tool, in dark times, when all were looking for closer ties; she was the link, the tool used to obtain it.  
No. She refused. She would not do it. She would die than be forced into marriage to a man she did not know. Like she said, she would only marry, unless it be to the man who held her heart. That man was lying in front of her, limp, stiff, his skin burning with fever, yet his hands icy cold. She sponged his forehead once more, as she had been for the past 10 hrs, with no avail. She caressed his blazing forehead, brushing a few of his fair locks aside. Why won't they just open? Those deep, tender, blue eyes full of love she had lost herself in.  
"My Lady," a gentle voice whispered amidst the darkness, "Won't you take some rest?"  
"I can find no rest, even in such a beautiful House, when he is in this condition," she murmured stubbornly. The Healer merely shook his head in understanding, "The sorrowful thing about working as a healer is, though you see many saved and healed and that gives you pride, there are still many that can not be saved. When you see the sorrow of those that loved him, your heart shatters and you just want to plunge yourself into a hole. Never to come out." Elentari nodded and turned to the elderly man, looking him firmly in the eye, "Tell me the truth. What are his chances?"  
The old man sighed and gently smoothed the blanket covering the wounded man, "If this fever breaks, he will survive. If it does not, we can only hope the grace of the Valar spares him." Elentari nodded and turned back to Faramir. He looked so content, yet so vulnerable lying there, which made her think back to another time.  
  
"Boromir!!! Boromir!! Are we there yet?" a young Faramir asked. The three of them had been riding for what seemed like hours and Faramir had grown quite uncomfortable sitting on the horse.  
"If we were there, you would see it," Boromir replied.  
"Where are we going again?" a thirteen-year-old Elentari asked for the umpteenth time.  
Boromir made a disgusted noise and said, "I am never taking you two out of the City again. Will you just wait? I've told you for the hundredth time. We are going near Osgiliath, I want to show you something, but now I have about changed my mind."  
Seeing their brother irritated, the two of them clamped their mouths shut until they finally saw the river city, though not as it used to be, glimmering in the distance.  
"Yea! We're there!" Faramir cheered, but to his surprise, they did not stop at the City, but went past it.  
"You will see," Boromir said flatly, before the pair could interrogate him with relentless questions, again. Finally, after more riding, which made Faramir stiff and ready to fall off the saddle, they stopped in an area of small wood. Boromir dismounted his horse, and motioned for the pair to do the same. He led them through the trees and finally, beyond a few branches of pine, they saw a shimmering lake.  
"You said you wanted to go swimming," Boromir said, delighted at the awe-struck look on the pair's faces.  
"It's awesome!!!" Faramir screamed in delight, bounding towards the water and jumping in without hesitation. Boromir stripped off his shirt and followed his brother in, pushing Faramir's head below. Faramir kicked and flung his fists to no avail and just when he felt his lungs were going to burst, Boromir released him. A fight beneath the water ensued with Boromir triumphing, as always, over his gentle brother. It was not until Faramir finally admitted defeat, which took a while, as the young boy was as stubborn as he was gentle, that the brothers finally realized that Elentari was not in the water.  
"Isilmë! Come into the water!" Faramir called. She shook her head and called, "I'd much rather stay dry, thank you kindly. It's enjoyable watching the two of you attempt to murder one another. Besides, you two never taught me how to swim." Faramir continued to try and get Isilmë into the water, with no avail. However, they were so busy talking, that she did not notice someone creeping up behind her.  
"Faramir, I find much more delight in watching you drown and piteously cry for Boro- AHH!!" The scream had barely left her mouth before it was stifled by cold water as Isilmë was pushed into the lake, new, elaborate riding gown and all. She resurfaced to see Boromir standing where she was, wiping his hands together triumphantly.  
"Boromir, son of Denethor, future Steward of Gondor. Lieutenant of the Ithilien Rangers, you better start running!" she threatened, drawing herself, rather reluctantly from the water.  
"I am waiting, my Lady," Boromir teased. Elentari ran, laughter ringing through the woods, after her older brother, who jumped into the water, right after she left it. "Get him one for me!!" Faramir yelled, watching them. Boromir eased his way smoothly through the water, not expecting Elentari to be able to swim. To his and Elentari's surprise, she glided through the water flawlessly, like she was born for it. She was about to reach Boromir, when something, or rather, someone, pushed her down. "FARAMIR!!!" she screamed for him when she resurfaced. He had a mischievous grin plastered over his face, and was trying as best as he could to swim away from her. She darted after him, as laughter and childish giggles echoed the woods, and grabbed his foot. He tried to kick her off, but she called, "I know your ticklish so don't even try!" He began shaking and giggling in the water, and soon, begging for mercy from her relentless attack. She was threatening him with more when suddenly; Boromir came from behind and with a yell, "Swim little brother!" tickled her more ferociously than she had to Faramir, "And you little sister, I know you are even more ticklish than he is."  
  
Elentari shook her head and smiled at the vivid memory of that summer's day. They had all been so young then; unburdened by the cares they carried now, with free time to spend with each other. She caressed the side of his face and sang:  
  
How do I, Get through one night without you? If I had to live without you, What kind of life would that be?  
  
Oh I need... Need you in my arms, need you to hold, You're my world, my heart, my soul If you ever leave, You would take away everything good in my life, And tell me now,  
  
How do I live without you? I want to know How do I breathe without you? If you ever go, How do I ever, ever survive? How do I live? Without you in my life, There would be no sun in the sky There would be no love in my life. There'd be no world left for me. I'd be lost if I lost you If you ever leave, You would take away everything real in my life. How do I? How do I live without you? Don't leave me...  
  
As night wore on, she slowly felt her heavy eyelids droop, and soon, she knew no more, but the content channels of sleep.  
  
Sunshine peeped through the glass of the Healing Houses, into the eyes of Lady Elentari. She awoke to see a Healer sponging Faramir's face. "My Lady! Wonderful news," the Healer, who had a rather high-pitched voice for a man who had already passed that many years, "His fever broke before dawn today. He is sleeping now, but should awaken anytime now." Tears filled her eyes at the news. He was alive. He was not going to die. Not going to leave her. Several minutes later, before high noon, that tender voice that she longed to hear called her name, then slowly opened his eyes. "Faramir," she managed to say, tears of joy, jubilation filling her eyes to the brim. He did not speak, but smiled at her and touched her hand. "It's about time," she teased, finally finding her voice, "I've been waiting." "Well I'm sorry to make my lady worried," he replied, his voice a faint whisper, but nonetheless, it was there, and it comforted her to hear it. "Ah, Lord Faramir, you awaken. We were beginning to worry about you," the Healer said, fawning over him, checking his temperature and bandage. "We need to redress the wound and then I want to get some fluid into you. Valaina is brewing some soup right now. When it is ready, you will have some. My Lady, I am sure you will see to that." Elentari nodded. "Wound? What wound?" Faramir said looking a bit confused. "Faramir, you were wounded at Cair Andros about five days ago and rushed back here on horseback," Elentari explained, laughing at the bewildered expression on his fair countenance. "Oh. That's why I couldn't wake up," Faramir said. He suddenly looked very small, almost lost, like a small child wandering astray through the levels of Minas Tirith. He continued to look a bit puzzled and deep in thought, "I felt this cold hand reaching for me. The voice behind it, I've never heard such," he shuddered. Elentari gently stroked his cheek, "Don't think about it anymore. It's over." Faramir nodded and patted her hand, but continued to speak, "There was nothing but darkness around me. I saw, I thought I saw Mother. But then I heard a voice, your voice, calling for me, and I had to turn from the tunnel." The Healer approached with new bandages and a pitcher of water. "My Lord, we must redress your wound. My Lady, if you care to watch, you may." Elentari grasped Faramir's hand as they unwound the soiled, dirty bandage to reveal a bloody gap in Faramir's side; a triangle with sides about an inch was dug into his skin. It was outlined with pus, which the Healer gently cleaned off by dabbing with a sponge. Faramir grimaced and squeezed Elentari's hand. The Healer's hands worked quickly, methodically, so that all the oozing pus was quickly gone and herbs were scattered above the wound. "Watch it, that will sting," the Healer warned before he administered it. Faramir grimaced at the pain, but tried not to let it show. Finally, the bandage was rewrapped around his body, but in order to do so, they had to sit him up. They steadied him and then pulled him up, trying not to hurt him. Though the movement was slow and gentle, a groan escaped from Faramir's lips; a groan he quickly suppressed, right in time, for the Steward of Gondor was standing in the doorway. "Did I not say that Faramir would live?" he asked, his voice stinging, grey eyes flashing. He evidently remembered the girl's words from the previous night. "Yes, you did, my Lord," Elentari admitted, keeping her eyes on the ground. "I have just received a report that Cair Andros has been taken back," Denethor reported, glaring at Faramir. "That is good news, my Lord," he said formally. "Yes. Boromir never lets me down," he said haughtily, and then pointedly added, "Unlike his brother." Faramir lowered his eyes, feeling that his father's words stung more than any Southron dart. "Elentari. I wish to speak with you later," Denethor ordered. "Later, my Lord," Elentari repeated, as a farewell gesture to the older man, who turned and stalked out. "Ignore him," she breathed to Faramir, who was hurt by his father's words. He nodded, but Elentari knew that it still hurt him. Soon, a maid brought up a bowl of soup, some soft bread, and a glass of water to her. She motioned to feed it to him, but he said determinedly, "No. Let me eat it by myself." "You'll spill," she said. "No I won't." "Yes you will. Besides, it makes me feel useful." "Well it makes me feel dependent and useless, as my father says," he said, his intense gaze level with hers. "All right, but if you spill, I'm taking over," she finally ceded. Looking into his eyes at that moment, she had forgotten it was the tender, loving eyes of her brother, her love, but rather, the steel of the Steward's eyes.  
  
"So what have you been doing while I was gone?" "Other than moping and thinking of you, I was in Amroth." "The Sea," it was more a statement than a question. "It is beautiful, Faramir," she sounded like a small child, confessing after doing something against the rules. "More beautiful than home?" "You know how I feel about this City, melda." Faramir continued to drink his soup unsteadily, reflecting upon her words. After finishing, he moved to arise, but Elentari quickly pushed him back down, causing him to grimace at the pain in his side.  
  
"Just where do you think you're going?" she asked, looking much older than him. "Well, I'm healing, aren't I?" "As you just said, heal-ING, not heal-ED," stressing the suffixes, "You're not going anywhere until the Healers clear you. Faramir groaned upon hearing this, "You don't expect me to stay bedridden, do you?" "I don't expect you to, but if I must, I shall force you to." Faramir groaned and muttered what sounded like a curse. Elentari sighed and rolled her eyes, "And you wonder why Illuvatar created women. You men have no self-control. Without us, you wouldn't live to your tenth year." "Without you, I couldn't live, period."  
"You've not awoken an hour and you're already sweet-talking me. What am I to do with you?" she said, pretending to look repulsed. She stood to take the tray from Faramir, but he clung to her hand and pulled her to him for an embrace. As his fingers worked through her long hair he murmured, "I missed you. I dreamt of you every night out there." She murmured a reply, breathing in his scent.  
"Now, if you don't mind," she said after they released each other, "I have work to do."  
"What work?"  
"I attend the Steward," she said rather dryly.  
"Fun," he said, the sarcastic tone in his voice was impossible to miss.  
"I will be back to see you later. You'd better listen to the Healers and do whatever they tell you to do. Rest," she said, putting particular stress upon the last word, "Do not attempt anything I would construe as foolish. I don't care if you don't think it is," she warned him.  
"Yes, my Lady," he bowed his head formally, a smirk appearing on the corner of his lips.  
"You know, if you weren't already wounded, I feel ready to hurt you, badly," Elentari said, her eyes twinkling.  
"I'm not stopping you," Faramir teased, "Plus. I'd like to see you try. Wounded, I could still beat you." Elentari scoffed, "Don't test me."  
"I'm waiting, my dear Isilmë." She had not heard anyone call her that name for so long. She stopped herself, reminding herself that she had duties to attend to, and that he was wounded. Any play fighting could wait.  
"If you don't mind, my Lord, I have duties to attend to," she curtsied and moved out of the room, leaving Faramir there to 'rest'. 


	12. Passion

A/N: A short one. Quick update from my last chapter though! Please tell me if you think I should raise the rating. It doesn't get fluffier than this, so please tell me what you think! Hope you like it. Reviews! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind. Faramir, to my great angst and sorrow, does not belong to me. His lovely character belongs to Tolkien and his fair countenance-David Wenham, who MOST unfortunately, does not belong to me. Thanks reviewers! Keep at it!  
  
Chapter 12: Passion  
  
"Since when did you become such a man of war? I thought that was Boromir," Isilmë complained as Faramir dragged her out of the Citadel, "You're barely healed! Valaina said to be careful and watch the wound, and you're already dragging me down to the archery course."  
"Oh, stop moaning."  
"What happened to the other Faramir? I mean, this is scary; what did that Southron dart do to you? Usually, we head for the library, not the archery course. Are you sure it didn't mess with your head?"  
"Are you sure that you didn't learn to keep your mouth shut while I was gone?" Faramir teased good-naturedly. Isilmë stuck out her tongue at him, which he returned.  
"Be careful. Father used to say that when you do that, someone will come and cut your tongue off," Faramir taunted.  
"Faramir, Father may be wise, but that piece of advice is folly. Besides, you stick your tongue out far more at me, and whoever cuts your tongue off would be doing me a grand favor. Faramir!! It's too hot out to practice archery!"  
"Do you ever stop whining?"  
"No! I haven't had anyone to listen to my whining for months! I deserve a turn to whine," she whined.  
"Oh I see why you like having me around now. I listen to your whining," Faramir pretended to be hurt. They both received a satchel of arrows and a bow. Faramir shot a few, and they all ended up somewhere near the bull's eye, with a few actually hitting it. Isilmë was having more difficulty, as archery was a skill she never really mastered, as Boromir didn't like it, as he saw it as the "cowardly way of battle." Faramir argued that it was "efficient and it worked". She could see his point, but she handled the sword much better, though she wasn't bad with the bow, owing her Elvish descent.  
"I have not done this in so long, that I have forgotten how to hold the bow," she grumbled.  
"You're not very good at archery, are you?" Faramir asked a bit surprised.  
"I never saw the need, as Father says, I will never venture far from these walls," she muttered bitterly. He continued to fire away, hitting the target every time. After a few tries, she finally fired the arrow and got it to travel a pitiful distance through the air.  
"You're holding it wrong," Faramir pointed out.  
"Yes I realized that. Now come here and help me, or clamp your mouth shut before I shoot at you."  
"It wouldn't matter. You'd miss." At this, she pointed her arrow straight at him.  
"You want to test that?" she challenged, her eyes sparkling.  
"You wouldn't," he said.  
"I would." He held her fiery gaze.  
"Come here," he motioned, striding over to her. He stood behind her, his arms over hers. She could feel his chest rise and fall with every breath he took.  
"Now, this is how you hold it," Faramir instructed, clearly enjoying his chance at having the upper hand, "And you're an Elf."  
"Part, not completely," she corrected, clearly indignant.  
"Now fire," he instructed. She pulled the string and the arrow whizzed through the air, hitting the inner rims of the target.  
"See? Not too bad," Faramir said, "You know. I am in the prime position to tickle you right now. I still remember those times when you and Boromir cornered me together and made me roll on the Citadel floor because you were tickling me."  
"Well," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye, "You'll have to catch me first." She slid out of his arms, picked up her dress, and ran. He chased after her into the busy marketplace of the White City. She wove her way through the stands, knowing that Faramir wouldn't risk knocking over a display or breaking anything. She saw the Citadel ahead, and ran for it. She entered before Faramir and slammed the door behind her. Seeing the room of statues, commemorating the great Kings of old, and their faithful servants, the Stewards, she slid behind a gigantic of King Earnur, right in time, for Faramir yanked open the door.  
"You know, Isilmë, one day, we're going to decide we're too old for these games," he called out, straining his ears to hear a response. Hearing none, he wove his way in and out of the statues, checking each one for signs of her. He was two away from Isilmë when she decided to run for it. She threw one of her shoes over his head to distract him, and made for the great wooden door. However, this childhood tactic did not work this time, as Ithilien had honed his reflexes. Faramir caught the slipper in mid-air and darted through the door after her. She was hobbling down the stairs, her missing slipper clearly hindering her. He took advantage of the moment as she reached down to remove the other, flipping over the banister to corner her at the bottom.  
"Oh no," she looked desperately around for an escape or rescue.  
"You're not going anywhere," he said, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. He pressed her against the wall, both panting from their excursion.  
"You're lucky Boromir's not here. He would have sided with me this time," Faramir said, poking her stomach and tickling her sides. She shook with involuntary laughter and sank to the floor, but Faramir would not relent.  
"Surrender. Say it. Say 'Faramir, I surrender'," he ordered, laughing along with her.  
"Faramir, I," the rest of the words would not leave her mouth, as she was writhing with laughter on the marble floor.  
"Faramir, you what? You forgot the last and most important word. Surrender. Say it. Come on say it. Say it and I'll stop it. Unless you really want me to tickle you; I know your most ticklish spot. This is nothing." He was met by nothing but giggles.  
"If you insist," Faramir said, "Don't say I didn't give you a chance." His hand moved up the nape of her neck.  
"No. No!!" She rolled on the floor, "Alright! I," she couldn't stop laughing long enough to say it, "I surrender!!!"  
"Now that's more like it." He immediately stopped tickling her, but his hand lingered upon her waist. "So far this is a good day. I taught you a lesson in archery and I got you to admit defeat." He helped her up, but her back was still to the wall.  
"You'd better be careful. I'm going to get you back," she threatened through clenched teeth.  
"What was that?" he asked playfully poking her side again, causing her to flinch again, "Don't make me do that again."  
"You won't get away with this," she murmured. A comfortable silence filled the hall for a moment, until Isilmë reached up and planted a tender kiss on Faramir's cheek. Moments after her lips left his skin, his mouth met hers. Her arms encircled his neck and she was pushed against the wall, his hands moving through her damp hair, as they drew breath from each other, kissing ardently and passionately. He wanted her, needed her, and as their mouths parted, longed for more. Her eyes lingered locked in his, the fire of passion smoldering fervently.  
After several moments of just gazing into each other's eyes, trying to deny themselves, Elentari stammered, "I should probably go. Father is probably looking for me right now." She slid from his arms and glided to the main Hall. Faramir watched her go; still feeling her touch, the way his fingers felt as they moved through her hair, and the way her lips caressed his skin and sent tingles up his spine. 


	13. Duty

A/N: Hope you like it. A bit of Elvish, of course, translations at the bottom. Reviews! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind. Faramir, to my great angst and sorrow, does not belong to me. His lovely character belongs to Tolkien and his fair countenance-David Wenham, who MOST unfortunately, does not belong to me. Araniel belongs to my most faithful reviewer. This chapter builds up some of the conflict that will later ensue between Faramir and Elentari. Thanks reviewers! Keep at it!  
  
Chapter 13: Duty  
  
Seasons passed by fleetingly, winter to spring, and soon, Elentari was two weeks before her eighteenth year. She looked upon it with dread, however, as Denethor had gone through with his celebration plans. He had invited almost everyone he deemed "worthy" in Middle-Earth. He said his plans were to offer her a proper celebration that she had not had since her second year, but Elentari, along with Faramir and Boromir, knew fully well what the Steward really had in mind. Times were tough and increasingly dangerous, making everyone seek stronger ties. Ties with a power such as Gondor were particularly welcome, so practically everyone accepted their invitation.  
Denethor had ordered a new gown by her design and his approval. It was a brilliant hue of blue, the color of the sky on a summer's day. The soft material rubbed against her skin as her maid fastened her silken sash around her waist. The sleeves were of flowing, silk material, with white stars embroidered on the sides. Her dark hair was slightly coiled inwards and curled around her face, draping down her shoulders to above her waist. The neckline was modest, and she had a string of white stars encircling her neck. Glancing into her looking glass, she was stunned. She had never thought of herself as beautiful, no matter what Faramir told her, but in this attire, she had to admit that she did look a bit attractive. Yet another thought hit her as she was admiring her reflection; more suitors would be attracted to her, in addition to her dowry, title, and country. How different she looked from the portrait that hung beside her looking glass, the young girl perched upon Finduilas's knee, with her two brothers kneeling beside, and the Steward presiding over his household. After traipsing around her room a few times, she removed the elaborate, beautiful gown and replaced it in its box, waiting for the fateful day.  
  
Faramir was in Ithilien again, as was Boromir, but they would return soon for the celebration. Elentari had not seen Denethor in such high spirits for a long while, and it was beginning to wear down her emotions. It was rumored by many, including those in Denethor's counsel that the young lord of the Horsemen of the North, son of the King Theoden was coming to the celebration with the intent of seeking Elentari's hand, or at least to see if she was worthy. Theodred was his name. Faramir had grumbled for days about him before he had left when he had heard. He would be the most prominent suitor there, but Elentari could not overlook the others. Imrahil was coming also and Elentari had sent a letter begging for Araniel, whom she missed.  
  
As the days until the fateful celebration dwindled down, a Horn was heard by the Tower Guard; the Horn of Gondor. The Horn of the Elder. Boromir was home! Elentari was serving Denethor tea when Boromir came in; face and hair windswept, dirt still clinging to his face and clothes from the wild, but altogether, the good-natured smile was still there. It was Boromir. He swept Elentari into his embrace, picking her off the floor and swinging her around; the way he always greeted her. Then, he greeted his father with another warm embrace.  
"How fares Osgiliath?" Denethor asked, taking in his son's healthy, dirty face.  
"Very well. Orcs have not dared to venture that far of late," Boromir replied.  
"They have heard of our daring Captain, and they dare not arouse his wrath, for he should slay them," Denethor boasted of Boromir, who smiled.  
"Ah, little one, not so little anymore," Boromir teased Elentari, who smiled sheepishly in return, "I remember when you were this high," motioning to around his waist, "You would follow Faramir and me around all day, singing songs of Elven lore and beating us in swordplay."  
"Things haven't changed that much then, have they?"  
"Yes. Still singing Elven songs and still, trying and failing to beat me."  
"I would take you on, my Lord, but you stink of the Wild and it would not be fair for me to beat someone on an empty stomach," she teased, handing him a cup of tea and some biscuits. She added, "I would suggest you take a bath, unless you intend to fill this entire House with your foulness."  
Boromir snorted, "I need to take you out there to the wild. Then you will appreciate what a bath is and not lounge in it for hours."  
"I do not lounge! I merely, enjoy," she defended.  
"Mm-hmm." Elentari was about to open her mouth in heated response when Denethor intervened, "Elentari. The first of the guests shall be arriving around tomorrow afternoon, and a ball will be held in the eve."  
"And Faramir is arriving morrow morn. He plans to be here before dawn to surprise you," Boromir added. Elentari smiled wistfully at this last part. Denethor frowned slightly.  
"My Lord, Father, what celebrations are we holding?" Elentari inquired. Though Denethor had already gone over the plans with her, she had never really listened, dreading the day.  
"Well, like I said before, when the guests arrive in the eve, we shall hold a grand ball, welcoming all. You will first be presented here. You shall meet all the guests before we dine, and then after, a dance begins. The next morn is for socializing, and in the afternoon, we will hold a miniature jousting tournament," at the last words, he looked at Boromir, who looked eager for the tournament.  
"The tournament is to win the lady's favor, that is?" he inquired.  
"It can be said, and I would ask of you, my dear daughter, to be quite generous, but reasonable in your favors, as many men will wish to woo you," Denethor requested.  
"I grant my favors to those my heart wills," she replied quietly, yet firmly.  
"What events are there in the tournament?" Boromir asked, it clearly being his favorite part of the celebration, other than the ale.  
"Well, horsemanship, swordsmanship, archery, and then, one-one-one combat." Boromir looked jubilant as Elentari groaned inside. She knew Faramir would endeavor as hard as he could to win those events, but she knew that other than archery, it would be quite a struggle for him.  
"The winners of each event will be presented to the Lady, who will congratulate each of them, and pick her favorite out of the four."  
"What if one person wins more than one event?" Boromir asked, knowing that he stood a chance for it. He did not want to win Elentari's favor, as she was and only was his darling little sister, but never hesitated to prove his strength and valor in arms.  
"Well, then the runner up shall be presented to the lady as well," Denethor said, "And Elentari, I would ask again of you to be reasonable in your favoring."  
"I will do what my heart bids," she again answered.  
"Elentari, please understand that this holds your future. I would not have a black mark on your name or of this family. Do you understand? Nothing should stand in the way of this celebration, and your name will not be shamed or colored in any form or fashion," Denethor informed, his eyes blazing.  
"Yes, my Lord," Elentari said dutifully, but inside, she was seething. He instructed her every move like she had no part in the celebration. She, as well as Boromir, knew that Denethor's words were meant only for Faramir, as everyone knew who already held the favor of the Gondorian Maid of Stars.  
  
As Denethor had predicted, the guests poured in before the sun fell the next day, the first being Imrahil and to Elentari's delight, Araniel, who squealed and ran towards her as she saw her. However, after the next guests arrived, Elentari was shunned to her room to prepare for the evening events. Faramir had returned right after Imrahil, but was only allowed a hasty greeting to his love until she had to go, by Denethor's design. He did not want them together too much when the prospects of her future were in attendance.  
As her maid laced the dazzling gown tightly, too tightly in her opinion, Elentari fastened her jewelry and thought about all those out there. So far, she had only glimpsed a few of the young men and ambassadors that arrived. Araniel had already been chattering constantly and had sighed dreamily when she saw many of the arriving guests. She had taken one look at Faramir and declared him, "Not as handsome as his brother, but very attractive," and had begged Elentari to introduce them. She had not had the time, but promised Araniel she would during dinner.  
When the sun was barely visible above the horizon in the West, a page knocked on her door signaling that they were ready for her. She stared into the looking glass one last time. The sky matched with the dress, with its blue hue and embroidered white stars, and brought out, as Denethor insisted, the sea-grey of her eyes. White stars draped around her neck and her dark hair curled around her face, over her shoulders, down to her waist. The maid handed her the dark blue sash that reflected the Sea in the midst of the night, and she made her way down the hall. She was a reflection of where the starry sky meets the grey Sea. As she reached the last turn, her nimble feet treading lightly on the marble floors, she heard Denethor speaking, and a guard signaled her presence.  
"Now I give you, friends of old, guests from distant lands, the flower of these walls, my jewel daughter, Elentari," Denethor announced, trumpeters taking up the call, and she entered the great Hall. A smile was plastered across her face, a smile that almost touched her eyes. She saw a look of awe cross Boromir's face, and searched the faces for the one she longed for, but did not find it.  
"My friends. Our guests. Thank you for coming this day. I am honored to receive your presence in our celebration. I know you shall enjoy your stay with us here in Minas Tirith. But as many of you come from distant lands, traveling far and long, let us wine and dine before we converse and make merry. To the dining hall," she greeted, and with her last words, cheers rang up, as many were famished and tired from their long journey. As all preceded for the dining hall, Denethor whispered in her ear, "All is well, so far."  
"You look absolutely stunning, selernya," Boromir murmured, as he approached her.  
"Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself. You actually bathed," she complimented him, as he wore his best attire and had actually combed and minded his hair!  
"Coming from you, that is the biggest compliment I could ever receive," he smiled, "Care to have an escort to the dining hall?" He offered his arm, which she took.  
"Where is Faramir?" she asked.  
"You will see." As they walked arm in arm down the wooden stairs, Faramir stood at the bottom. His face lit up when he saw her approaching, and was filled with a dazzled expression of awe. He had always thought her beautiful, but in this attire, he barely recognized her. He would have thought it was Luthien Tinuviel standing before him instead of Isilmë Elentari, his love.  
"I've never seen Faramir's jaw drop that wide. He looks like he is going to pass out," Boromir teased. As they reached the bottom of the stair, he bowed, "I leave you here, selernya, as you have found a more worthy escort." Elentari smiled and thanked him, and turned towards Faramir, who was still looking at her awestruck.  
"What are you looking at?" she asked.  
"You," he breathed softly.  
"You've looked upon me for eighteen years now, Faramir. Haven't you grown tired yet?" she asked, half teasing, half serious.  
"I could never look upon you enough, in this garb or not. Though I must say, it is most flattering on you," he said. She smiled half- heartedly, "Yes, but the trouble is, not only you shall think that. We should be in the dining hall."  
Faramir looked bitter and cursed under his breath, "It shatters me to think that someone else may have you one day."  
"Let's worry about that later. We have guests waiting," she ushered him into the hall, yet her own heart was heavy as she sat next to Denethor at the head of the table. The room was filled with six elongated tables, full of people. Suitors, emissaries, friends, relatives, all had come to celebrate and look upon the Star Maiden of Gondor.  
During dinner, a tall, fair-faced man with bright hair that glowed in the darkened evening hall, illuminating it as it was the sun, made his way to Denethor and Elentari. He bowed courteously and waited for Denethor to introduce him.  
"This is Theodred of Rohan, son of Theoden King," Denethor introduced. Elentari bowed her head and offered a faint smile, as was customary.  
"Thank you for honoring us with your presence at our celebration," she said customarily.  
"Thank you for the honor of looking upon your beauty. I can see now that the rumors were true. You are as beautiful as your namesake, maiden of stars," Theodred flattered.  
"I fear not, but thou words bring joy to my heart," Elentari said, "Please have a seat," motioning to a seat across from her, which Theodred eagerly took. When the plates were cleared, the minstrels struck up a tune, a waltz; Theodred was the first to ask for her.  
"Will thou honor me with a dance, my Lady?" he asked.  
"I shall," she accepted, knowing what was expected of her. As they waltzed, Denethor looked on gleefully, feeling that his designs were falling through. Maidens all eager to appeal to the future Steward surrounded Boromir and he carefully selected the most beautiful as his partner. Elentari sighed inwardly and shook her head at those young maidens. They did not know they were wasting their time. Boromir would humor them at such celebrations, and would enjoy and drown in the attention given to him, but he would take none of these fair women to heart. He was a man of arms, of war, and he delighted chiefly in it.  
Theodred proved to be an attracting man, and against her will, Elentari somewhat enjoyed his company, though she longed to be with Faramir. She inquired about his homeland, the grassy plains of Rohan. He described vividly the freedom of the hills, where he would take his steed and ride from sunup to sunset, feeling only his horse and the wind streaking through his hair. The image seemed appealing to her, as she desired freedom, but remembered that Rohan was far, even further than Minas Tirith, from the Sea. Theodred listened intently to what she had to say when he inquired about her home, and what she loved to do. He was most interested when she said she loved riding and swords, much to the disapproval of Denethor, and of songs and tales.  
He said he wanted to see her ride and wanted to race her.  
"Nay, my Lord. I am nothing compared to the Riders of Rohan, whom I have read much about. The Oath of Eorl and your great steeds," she tried to back out.  
"Come now, are we too afraid to race? A great rider rides without fear," he coaxed. She smiled apprehensively, knowing she could not back out of this one, "Fine. Tomorrow, I shall ride with you. I see that the tales were true. Not only are the Rohirrim great riders, they are also hardheaded and persistent."  
"And I see the tales were true. The Star Maiden of Gondor is not only beautiful, she has wit and thinks she can ride, but we shall see about that on the morrow," he teased.  
As the Prince of the Rohirrim attempted to woo the Lady of Stars, Denethor looked on happily, as this was what he was wishing for. However, his son was not. Faramir stood alone by the fire, watching the pair with jealous eyes- the way Elentari smiled and laughed at Theodred's remarks, the way this rider from the North looked upon her with admirable eyes, the way they waltzed around the hall.  
As they exchanged stories of their childhood, Boromir tapped Theodred on the shoulder, "Do you mind if I reclaim my sister for a while?"  
"Not at all," Theodred replied, handing her over to Boromir, who took her hand and began a dance, as many maidens looked on jealously.  
"What happened to all the worry and fret over this man? You seem to have taken well to him," Boromir teased.  
"He is a fine man," she replied.  
"A fine man with intentions of wedding you some day soon," Boromir said.  
"Where is Faramir?" she asked, remembering Faramir, though he had never passed far from her mind.  
"I have not seen him. I was surprised he had not asked for you yet," Boromir replied. Elentari looked around for him, but found him not.  
"I'll see you later, Boromir," she parted with him, with the intention of leaving to search for Faramir, but was apprehended on her way out, by Denethor and a certain Anarahil, of Amroth.  
"May I have this dance?" Anarahil asked, bowing. Elentari wanted to decline him and push it for later, but seeing the look upon Denethor's face, she knew she could not, "You may, my Lord."  
As they danced through the couples, she caught a glance of Imrahil, who smiled, seeing her with his kinsman.  
"I have visited Amroth, but I did not ever get to make your acquaintance," she said, "Why is that?"  
"I am often away, patrolling our borders. Times are dangerous for all, not just Gondor. I was informed of your stay by Araniel, who would not cease to chatter about you, which intrigued me."  
"You know Araniel?"  
"Yes, sometimes I feel rather unfortunate to be. I am her brother," Anarahil said, making a face at the mention of his sister.  
"I adore Araniel. She is so full of life," Elentari said.  
"Too full. She never stops," he murmured.  
"That is a gift that should not be hindered," she warned, "How is it she never spoke of you?"  
"I do not know. She probably wanted to forget that I existed," he said.  
"Oh come now. Araniel and you cannot be on such bad terms."  
"She's my sister. Surely, with two brothers, you must know how it is."  
Elentari smiled, though her heart felt a sharp jab at the mention of Faramir, "We fight, but I think they spoil me."  
"You are lucky then, to have temperate brothers. Araniel irritates me, but of course, I love her," Anarahil said. They continued to talk, until Theodred came to her again. Anarahil did not leave her willingly, and looked a little begrudged at Theodred, but for public face could not do anything about it.  
"You said, my Lady, that your chief love is in song. Please, sing me a song," Theodred coaxed, leading her out to the cool, night air.  
"I have no songs for the wide grasslands you love," she said.  
"Come now. Sing me a song. Any song you wish," he said. She hesitated a moment, but then agreed:  
  
Sea of Clouds  
Sea of Showers  
And we go to the stars.  
And we go to the stars.  
Sea of Waves  
  
Wonderful to relate; Marvels  
Wonderful to see; Wonders  
And we go to the stars  
And we go to the stars.  
Evergreen. A rose garden  
  
Each has its own habits. Each its own  
Mine to me. Its own to each is dear.  
Remember, life is earth-born  
Remember, life is brief  
Mine to me. Its own to each is dear.  
  
Theodred was left speechless as she finished the song. One could say that she had him bewitched, under a spell. At that moment, he desired her for his wife. His father had sent him here, quite against his will, to see if this foster daughter of the Steward was satisfactory for a wife, as her connections and background were excellent—tied to both Gondor and Amroth. He had come quite grudgingly, feeling that his father was using him as a tool, but as he laid his eyes upon the Maiden of Stars, and heard her voice fade into the night, he felt that wedding this Southern Lady would be a blessing, not a curse, as he had presupposed.  
  
For the rest of the night, Elentari was unable to do what she desired, to find Faramir. She spent most of the night with Theodred, occasionally with Boromir, but whenever she found a spare moment and made her way to seek Faramir, it seemed to her that someone else turned up to apprehend her, with Denethor standing not too far away. She was called to sing by the minstrels a few times, and she performed outstandingly, but without Faramir's lyre and vocals, her fiddle and song did not resonate as it once did, and her heart was not into her singing.  
Finally, as it neared midnight, when most everyone was drunk on mead and ale, especially Boromir, she slipped away. Faramir was not in his room, nor was he in the library, where he usually was. She thought of all the possible places he could be quickly, knowing that her time was limited. They would soon notice that she was gone, the pinnacle of attention, and would seek her. Denethor would know exactly where she had gone, and would not be happy. She ventured light-footedly into the gardens, hoping to see Faramir there, and lo! Her wish was granted. He was there, bathing in the moonlight, singing a soft song of mourning to himself.  
"Why such mourning, melda?" she asked. Seeing she was there, he turned away, which caused her to frown, and move closer to him. She touched his shoulder, but he drew away.  
"Faramir, mana usahtië*?" she breathed confused, not knowing why he turned from her.  
"Le nyarin inye, herinya*," he replied bitterly, referring to her by her title.  
"If you have cause to be angry with me, if I have done you wrong, please tell me what it is," she pleaded.  
"Why don't you ask that prince of Rohan?" he snapped. Suddenly, with those words, she understood.  
"Faramir, I merely played my part. He is a fine man, but in my eyes, no one can rival you. I was doing my duty," her words were lost as he snapped, "Don't talk to me about duty! I know what duty is. Duty is doing what you're told. Duty is doing whatever your Lord commands, though he is an insane, heartless man. Duty is giving up what you love. Duty is selling yourself for your country, to men who would love to have you in their bed each night--"  
"Faramir! Let not anger color your words into those you shall regret," she barked the reprimand, her eyes flashing in fury. Seeing that, Faramir knew he had gone too far, to arouse her gentle temper.  
"My apologies. I did not mean that. You're right. I let my anger get the best of me," Faramir apologized. Elentari's fiery gaze softened as she saw the lines of wear and sorrow on his face and she reached up to caress it.  
"You know that I would never leave you by choice, Faramir. If Father intends to marry me off, he will deliver nothing to the groom but my body. My spirit and soul shall long stay with you, or find the halls of Mandos," she declared, not knowing the weight that these words would later carry.  
"Faramir, come back inside. It's cold out here, and I cannot linger here for long. Father will send someone to look for me." Faramir allowed her to lead him back into the Hall, to the jubilant masses of people, some eating, some drinking, most talking, and many dancing.  
"There you are!" Araniel said, "Can I finally get the introduction?"  
"Oh. Um, Faramir, this is Araniel of Amroth. I told you about her," she introduced, and Faramir nodded politely, "And Araniel, of course this is Faramir."  
"Finally! You know how irritating it is to hear about you every minute of every day? She talks of nothing but you!" Araniel complained. Faramir smiled at the younger girl and said, "Oh. So what does she say of me?"  
Araniel looked mischievous and Elentari quickly intervened, clearing her throat, "That information is not needed at the time. Araniel, don't make me agree with your brother about your conversational habits." Araniel pouted for a moment, but then that optimistic energy took over again.  
"Come, dance with me," Faramir wrapped one arm around Elentari's waist, and the other took her hand. As they swept through the hall, everyone looked on, with mixed opinions. Boromir laughed, and murmured to himself, "It's about time. I was wondering when they were going to show themselves together."  
Theodred, Anarahil, and many other prospective suitors frowned a bit, but dismissed their relationship as strictly brother-sister. They were fools to think that, as it was evident to anyone paying any attention that these two were in love. Their eyes shone as they looked upon another and their bodies moved across the floor as one. Denethor scowled, his face turning a deep shade of red. Everything had worked out so flawlessly until now. That younger son of his was not going to ruin everything he had planned.  
"I love you," he whispered into her ear as they danced, her feet beneath the dress matching with his booted ones. She did not answer, but kissed him on the cheek, which caused a murmur through the crowd. Denethor's neck turned a deep shade of purple and before the song even came to an end, he stood up, and called, "I am afraid that this is it for tonight, as we are holding a jousting tournament tomorrow, and we would not want the gentlemen to be too tired to fight for the lady's favor." Slowly, one by one, everyone went to their assigned guest rooms, and filled the Citadel. Denethor however, followed Elentari, and as they both entered her room, shut the door behind him.  
Elentari stood, her back to him, by her window, waiting for his blowing words.  
"Elentari. For most of the night, you were wonderful, social, and entertaining. I can even condone the dance with Faramir, but that kiss? Do you not remember what I said about any color or blemish on your name would utterly destroy your chances of marriage? That was one of them! Luckily, the rumors have not reached these people."  
"Father, it was merely a dance with Faramir. It could have been a kiss on Boromir's cheek, or even Theodred's," she defended herself.  
"Men do not look fondly upon women who flaunt and flirt with other men," Denethor snapped.  
"But wasn't this whole celebration held so men could see me, and you yourself said that I must be entertaining and charming to all," she argued.  
At this, Denethor's already magenta face turned a shade deeper, "Elentari. Tomorrow, in the tournament, you will obey me." With that, he turned and stalked out.  
  
*mana usahtië?: What is wrong?  
  
*Le nyarin inye, herinya: You tell me, my Lady. 


	14. Betrayal

A/N: Hope you like it. Shorter one. I have a lot more to add and a quick update is prospective, but I felt that ending was a bit suspenseful. Reviews! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind. Faramir, to my great angst and sorrow, does not belong to me. His lovely character belongs to Tolkien and his fair countenance-David Wenham, who MOST unfortunately, does not belong to me. This chapter adds up the conflict and tension that will later ensue between Faramir and Elentari. Thanks reviewers! Keep at it!  
  
To "Jazmin 3 Firewing": I like your critique of Boromir, which was part of which I was trying to convey, yet also that though he was arrogant, he loved Faramir, which I hopefully added. 'Araniel': Well, now that you have an older brother, you can see how much you annoy your actual brother. Thanks to 'Unicorn' 4 adding me 2 the list!  
  
Chapter 14: Betrayal  
  
"My Lady, allow me to present to you the competitors of each round," Mentarë, a knight of the Realm announced, as Elentari sat high in the stands with Denethor, as the groups of warriors lined up.  
"Our first area shall be archery. We have four contestants. Anarahil of Amroth," each man stepped forward and bowed as his name was called, "Madan of Ered Namrais. Theodred of Rohan and Faramir of Gondor." She smiled and nodded at each one, and said, "I wish you all luck."  
The contestants would stand in a line, each with a target 50 paces away. After each round of arrows fired, the target would be moved 50 more paces back, until it reached 300. Then, the two finalists were chosen, and they would compete for a winner.  
Seven rounds of arrows later, Theodred and Faramir remained standing. Theodred offered Faramir a warm handshake for good fortune, which Faramir returned, if only for courtesy, but he regarded Theodred icily, holding him in contempt. "This man is the one who wants to steal her from me." Elentari noticed Faramir's glare, and something inside her quivered, for it was not the first time she had seen the Steward of Gondor in his younger son's eyes. The drums rolled, thundering like the horses across the Pelennor, and the targets were moved another 50 paces back, totaling 350.  
"Come on, little brother!!!" Boromir cheered on the side. Elentari wanted to scream out, to encourage Faramir, but knew she could not openly show any favor.  
Since Theodred was the guest, it was customary for him to shoot first. He took a single, feathered arrow out of his casket, notched it upon the bow, pulled back the string, and let it fly. It hit the innermost rim of the target, just outside of the bull's eye. He bowed, a radiant smile upon his face, and made out of Faramir's way. Faramir came up, his face grim and serious, eyes, icy and cool. For the first time of his life, he looked more like his father than lovely Finduilas, something that Denethor had never wanted to admit. As he let his arrow fly, a cry was heard from Elentari, though she quickly stifled it, and looked apologetically at Denethor. Fleeting moments later, it met the target, hitting dead center. He placed his bow back into the casket, his face expressionless, as cheers resonated through the plain. Theodred congratulated him, and he allowed someone to lead him to the head pavilion, where his father and lover sat.  
"My Lady, may I present to you the winner of our archery tournament, Lord Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor," Mentarë, the Knight, announced. Cheers rang up for Faramir, none louder than that of Boromir.  
After the cheering died down, Elentari spoke. Though her words were formal and cautious, her smiling eyes gave away how pleased she was.  
"Lord Faramir, I commend you on your victory. You have done Gondor well, and these very walls of our fair City shine down upon you in pride. Please, take this," she removed her starry necklace, "As a token of my gratitude and a wish of good fortune to you in the rest of this tournament."  
"My Lady. I need not a token for your gratitude, for just to look upon thee does my heart well. Yet I shall accept your grace, as fortune is always welcome and one should never deny the gift of a Lady as fair as you," he returned, and murmured to her, "I still have your other one," referring back to the gem she had given him when he had left for Ithilien. Her most precious possession, as it was her mother's. Elentari smiled and quickly suppressed a giggle at Faramir's words and murmured back to him, "You'd better be taking care of that," and to everyone else, "Let the tournament continue." As Faramir walked away, he pulled at something around his neck, showing the crystal dangling faithfully. She smiled and blew a kiss to him, careful that Denethor was not watching.  
The other three rounds were played out, Theodred, being of the Rohirrim, easily won horsemanship. He flew with the wind, urging his horse on, his light hair streaking behind him. Boromir dominated the one-on-one combat, easily being the fiercest warrior there. Elentari awarded them both with tokens, Theodred a handkerchief and Boromir, a flower. Boromir had snorted indignantly when she had dismissed him with a wave of her hand, shooing him off, causing much enjoyment to Denethor and others. However, the swordsmanship battle was not as easy for him, or for anyone else. Prince Imrahil proved to be a daunting challenge to all the young men, though he desired not Elentari's hand. He soon ceded to his kinsman, Anarahil, who fought off four others, before falling to Boromir. The last four were Boromir, Theodred, Faramir, and a highborn Gondorian, Calyan. As brother was pitted against brother, Elentari ached in her seat. The dress was stifling her, this time a misty green fabric, the weather was sweltering, and she longed to move, not to sit idly, watching her brothers out there. As they fought on and on without a victor, she thought, "Oh come on! Let me out there and I could show them all what swordsmanship is. My, Faramir is much better though. What has Ithilien done to him? Ai, why do they get to be out there, fighting for my favor, while I have to sit here, in this suffocating dress waiting for a victor? I could fight for my own, not wait for them. Boromir and Faramir, I know personally I can beat both of you." As Boromir caused Faramir to lose his balance, she wanted to jump out there and help him. Boromir came to deal the winning blow, when Faramir sparred, taking Boromir full on and drew him aback. When had his gentle, little brother become so fierce? He had a maniacal glow in his eyes, the eyes of a man driven by resolve and jealousy. The battle drew on between the brothers, neither willing to yield, as Theodred finally defeated Calyan, leaving the Gondorian in the dirt.  
Finally, Denethor, fearing the brothers would become reckless and actually harm each other, called for a truce.  
"As it seems, the competitors of this round are the winners of the previous rounds, so there is no need to find the winner. Bring forth our three victors," Denethor called. Theodred, upon his auburn steed, Brego, rode to the pavilion. Faramir and Boromir walked proudly side by side, refusing to let their fatigue show.  
"I could've won this time," Faramir muttered.  
"You've improved little brother, but I still held the upper hand," Boromir replied.  
"That may be true, but I could still have won. I was gaining back," he returned.  
"Oh stop it. She can beat the both of us. I pity her, sitting there, waiting for a victor. She could probably come in and teach all three of us a lesson," Boromir said of Elentari. As they stood in front of her, each one matted with sweat and dirt, she smiled at each, awarded them a golden disc as commemoration.  
"So, now we shall see whom the Lady picks as her favorite," Denethor announced, shooting a warning look at her.  
Elentari looked from Boromir to Faramir, to Theodred, back to Faramir, and to Theodred. It took all her self-control and years of training not to let her inner struggle appear on her face. Her heart bid her to choose Faramir, which she would do with no hesitation, if Denethor had not been near. Boromir was eliminated easily, as he did not even wish his sister's favor. Theodred was a good man, a fine man, whom, if Denethor had his way, her future would rest with. She knew that if she selected Faramir, Denethor would do everything in his power to keep them apart afterwards and would treat Faramir even worse than he did now. With that, she sighed, shot Faramir an apologetic and regretful glance, and extended her hand to Theodred. Cheers rang up, especially from the Rohirrim Theodred had brought with him. Boromir and some Gondorians stood shocked, as was Denethor, though he applauded heartily, and offered the couple seats beside him. Faramir stood there, his eyes fixed on the pair, jealousy ripping through his veins, piercing his heart more than a hundred Orc arrows. She had insisted that she was merely performing her duty, but as he looked on at the smiling couple, he could not believe it. He wanted to, but he could not. By formality, he could not leave, no matter how much he wanted to, but as she tried to catch his eye, to try to explain to him, he would not meet her gaze. He felt her gaze upon him, and he longed to look into those dark eyes and seek comfort there, but a part of him would not allow him to. "Let her be with him, if that is whom she chose," flashed through his head, as he could not control his burning jealousy.  
Boromir, seeing his brother distraught, knew how shattered he would be. He quickly waded over to him, clasped him on the shoulder, and murmured, "She had to, little brother." Faramir did not reply, only shot him a look of pure disgust that caused Boromir to move back, stunned at the vehemence of his brother. Denethor gave a speech and all moved back into the City. Try as she might, Elentari could not catch Faramir's eye, and it pierced her, though she plastered a smile upon her face, for sake of the occasion and Theodred.  
"I knew it would shatter him, yet I did it. You chose Isilmë, don't back out now. You did it for the best," she tried to assure herself, though she knew that she had deeply wounded him. She could only hope he would forgive her.  
But as she glanced at his face, the blank, expressionless countenance plastered upon it, the mask firmly attached, she knew that once done, things can never be erased. 


	15. The Mask

A/N: Hope you like it. I've been suffering from an extreme case of writer's block, but tonight, I got past it, thanks to my friend Andy's ingenious poem about the sun/moon, which I altered a bit and added a stanza. Thanks for letting me alter it Andy! Also, many thanks to Susan, who with her constructive criticism, help, and encouragement, helped me through the difficult time, and yes, this chapter does bring out both of their darker sides! This chapter is like the climax of the conflict and tension between Faramir and Elentari and brings out sides that most people would never dream of. Thanks reviewers! Keep at it!  
  
Chapter 15: The Mask  
  
After the tournament commenced and everyone, spectators and competitors, cleaned up, freshened up, and refreshed themselves, they donned revelry masks and costumes, and made their ways around the halls, trying to guess who was who. Denethor was easily recognizable with his graying hair, proud stride, and bitter eyes that no one could overlook, no matter what the costume. Boromir came as an urchin, dressed from head to toe in different shades of green, though it was rather unconvincing considering his height and build.  
Elentari chose her costume carefully, not wanting to be noticed, as she knew she was the pinnacle of attention. She brought out her hauberk, girdle, sword, and armor. As she dressed, she pinned up her long hair, fitting a helmet over it to conceal it. When she was done, she could pass for any soldier of Gondor and could fight as well, if not better, than any as well. However, her maids insisted that going out dressed as a soldier would make it too obvious. People would either think that person was too lazy to change or would guess it was her. Therefore, they draped a bright orange cloak around her and pulled the flaming hood over her head, so she represented flaming Arien, the Sun-maiden. Elentari was rather pleased at her maid's suggestion, as no one would guess that the Star-maiden was this warrior of the Sun. That is, no one other than her brothers.  
She crept down to the hall, not wanting to entice attention and mixed in with the guests. She saw Boromir flaunting to the side and trying, rather pathetically, in her opinion, to scamper like a small, mischievous urchin.  
She turned her attention to a smaller figure skipping a few feet away from her. "She is such a bad one for revelry," Elentari thought, as anyone could tell that the playfully energetic creature dressed as, the perfect animal counterpart, a monkey, was Araniel. She had the playful energy; the ability to ceaselessly jump around and chatter without tiring, and, causing Elentari to laugh, the rather lost and confused look that often was aroused. She could just imagine Araniel scratching her head in thought. She was tempted to embrace her friend, or at least talk to her, but did not want to give away her own costume. Rather, she waited to see if Araniel would recognize her. The monkey-girl came close to her, took a look at her, but dismissed her as some Gondorian man, though a rather small one, unworthy of interest, though Elentari was considerably tall.  
Walking around, she passed a few people she recognized, such as Imrahil, dressed as a batch of niphredil, provoking many taunts and humor to arise, but he was not easily recognizable. Well, though most people recognized him, they were praying it wasn't him. She passed a group of Rohirrim, most with masks of horses on, which really gave it away, but Theodred was not amongst them.  
She congratulated herself silently, as she was able to move through the crowds without being recognized or confronted. However, so far, she had not seen, or at least, not recognized Faramir anywhere, or for that matter, Theodred, which worried her to a point.  
She saw Anarahil, dressed as a tree, come by. "These people come up with such uncreative designs. The only good one so far is Imrahil." Anarahil glanced at her, and then stopped, scrutinized her through all his branches and leaves, "Who are you?"  
She did not reply, only shook her head. "Well, then what are you supposed to be?" he asked. She shrugged, pointing to him, saying that it was his job to find out.  
"I would find you to be either a knight or the sun," he said, thinking carefully who this could be. After failing to figure out who she was, he shrugged and moved on by.  
She edged closer to Boromir, who turned and faced her.  
"You look oddly familiar," he squeaked. She turned her head sideways to ask why. He cocked his head, scrutinized her, his big blue eyes squinting until they were mere slivers, and then he said, "Ah. I know. You could never hide from me, little one. Interesting costume though, selernya."  
She murmured, so that no one would hear her and discover, "I did not wish to attract attention."  
"Especially with that fiery cloak," he said sarcastically.  
"My maids insisted."  
"I would've thought star maiden, not fiery Arien," Boromir said.  
"I'm known for it, so it would defeat the purpose of a revelry, would it not?" she shot back.  
"I suppose. If you wish not to be recognized, steer out of Father's way. Anyone knowing you well could spot you, no matter the costume."  
"Have you seen Faramir?" she asked.  
"No. Not since we came back to the City. Father ordered his presence though, I'm sure of that," Boromir replied, looking worried. Elentari sighed and nodded, "I should probably leave you, before someone guesses who I am." She moved away, and mixed herself within the guests.  
Denethor rose, causing a halt in the music, and announced, "Now that we are most all in attendance, though I know not all of you through your cunning disguises, I should ask if anyone has spotted or recognized our Lady." Boromir looked around, trying not to seem guilty, as everyone else shook their heads.  
"Well then, if she has so cleverly disguised herself, a reward to the first to discover her in her crafty raiment," he announced. A murmur went through the crowd as they began regarding every near them, trying to recognize her.  
"My dear friends from Rohan, where be your Lord, Theodred?" Denethor asked the men dressed as horses.  
"He is here, somewhere," one replied, "Cleverly disguised, as your lady."  
"Ah, two mysteries. Some music, my talented minstrels." The minstrels struck up a tune, as masked people continued to weave in and out. Soon, a figure appeared, dressed in flaming red and gold, and a mask of a fiery- dragon, as it seemed, breathing fire in the midst. No one knew whom this regal figure was, hiding behind his excellent façade.  
Elentari was besieged with curiosity, and moved toward this dragon figure, who in return, regarded her. She felt herself squirm under his intense stare. Was this mysterious figure Theodred? It was not Faramir, this she knew, for the eyes she saw under that mask were not the gentle blue of her beloved. She squirmed beneath her armor and helm, feeling the intense gaze of this dragon. Finally, he bowed, and murmured, "My Lady."  
She gasped. Who, other than Boromir, who had known her all her life, could tell who she was? She could swear that he could see through her thick helm, piercing the metal, into her very soul. He laughed, as if he could see the astonished and bewildered look upon her face behind the cold steel.  
  
"My Lady, you have not a guess who I am?" he asked, "Is this masquerade that deceiving?"  
Should she reply? Replying would be admitting that it indeed was she beneath armor and cloak. But not to answer would be disrespect to this person.  
"Theodred," she breathed. Again, he smiled, and said, "Ah, so she can recognize me. Well done, my Lady."  
"Has she been found?" Denethor asked the crowd.  
"Here she is, my Lord," Theodred called out. Every head turned to look upon her, clad in her fiery mantle and armor.  
"Clever," Denethor said looking at her, "Might I guess fiery Lady Arien guiding Anar through the sky? Am I correct?"  
"Yes," she breathed softly through the helm.  
"And who might this stranger be? Your exploiter," Denethor asked.  
"Theodred of Rohan," she announced.  
"Ah. Very clever of him. He can spot you in any disguise. Theodred, a dragon, I suppose?"  
"Yes, my Lord," he said, removing the mask momentarily. Denethor nodded, a thin smile that never reached his eyes appearing on his face, and let the music begin again. Theodred asked for a dance, which she granted. As they waltzed through, she glanced around for Faramir, knowing how torn he must be, but found him not.  
A few dances later, the master bard and the minstrels called for a brief skit. A minstrel began on the flute, joined with the harp, and soon, all the minstrels were playing. Then the bard rose his voice and sang:  
The silent moon rises  
  
looking down on earth  
  
lonely has the body been  
  
since its time of birth  
  
The moon, surrounded by the stars  
  
the tiny acquaintances that laugh  
  
and wink secretly  
  
at each other  
  
and longing is the moon  
  
to be with another...  
  
As he sang, he motioned to a lone figure, standing in the corner, dressed from head to toe in shining silver, with a twinkling mask of the nighttime sky. Everyone glanced at this person, guessing who he could be. Elentari took one glance at him, and knew who this was. She could never miss those broad shoulders and even from this far, those piercing blue eyes. Though this time, they were full of rage and fire, not the gentle, loving eyes she had known.  
  
The night sky broadens  
  
the darkness grows  
  
and the clouds come and cover  
  
as the moon grows in woe  
  
and then, the sun  
  
the majestic maid, the fiery hunter  
  
as it drives away  
  
all darkness, all stars, all loneliness  
  
and for that brief moment  
  
as the moon meets the sun  
  
a burst of joy, of happiness  
  
overflows within  
  
The light then shown on Elentari, as she moved through as Arien, and for a moment, Faramir met her eyes, but quickly looked away, pain stabbing through him.  
The light is shared between them  
  
as they whisper, so silently  
  
their secrets, their smiles  
  
And how beautiful  
  
is their balance, the searching souls  
  
that come together  
  
and melt into one  
  
At this, Denethor's already troubled face, turned a deep shade of purple. He did not like this display by the talented bard. It also troubled him how though it was unintentional, Elentari dressed as Arien, due to her maid's persistence, and Faramir-Tilion.  
  
Alas, their meeting is but sudden  
  
their reflections growing faint  
  
slowly both must move apart  
  
as nature forces cruel restraints  
  
The moon watches jealously  
Incapable  
As the sun streaks away  
Flaunting, flirting with the wind  
  
once again, in silent blackness  
  
does the moon reside  
  
fill now with only memories  
  
and bursts of lonely cries  
  
The song ended, and Faramir looked away. That insolent bard; he knew what troubled the young lovers' hearts, and yet he sang intentionally, that lay of the sun and moon. Denethor however, smiled, as the song ended tragically, tearing the star-crossed couple apart.

As the night wore on, Elentari pleaded discomfort, and sat beside Denethor, who looked jovial and was conversing with a few lords, at the head of the table. She watched as Boromir flirted with the women, eager to satisfy his every desire. Theodred had accompanied her, but she had practically ordered him to go enjoy himself, and though he obeyed her command, his gaze never strayed far from her. Araniel attracted the attention of a few younger Gondorians, and danced and chattered the night away. Yet where was Faramir? Ever since that song, she had not been able to find him in the midst. Her gaze strayed to the furthest corner of the room. What she saw there struck her like a lightning bolt. Faramir was downing flagon after flagon of ale, and becoming increasingly intoxicated. She shook her head in disgust. Faramir had never been one for ale, but yet here he was, acting like there was nothing wrong with him, drinking flagon after flagon. She felt a knife being stuck into her side when she saw that four very beautiful women, all- striving for his attention, surrounded him, and not only did he not object to their attention, he flaunted and flirted with them, touching them, embracing, and one even found her way to perch on his knee. What was Faramir doing? Usually he would step away coyly from any woman who approached him, and excuse himself, flushing to the very roots of his hair. Now, he welcomed their attention and returned it to them. She was filled with disgust, and a new feeling, one she had never felt before, entered her heart, threatening to tear it down. At that very instant, she hated those women. She wanted to go over and hurt every woman that dared to approach him. "Get away from him. He's not yours," she thought, "Get away from him, you horrible wenches. Do not make him as filthy as you are. You have Boromir, leave him alone!!" 

As she gazed on, her gaze full of the destructive fire of jealousy, Faramir briefly caught her gaze, and smiled cruelly. So, she was noticing, and what she saw did not please her. It serves her right. He could play with her heart just as well as she could his. 

As watches of night passed, and many were asleep from either intoxication or exhaustion, Elentari was excused, as Denethor himself retired. He was evidently pleased with her behavior, as Elentari and Faramir were not seen with each other the entire night. She however, did not retire. She changed into a simpler attire, throwing on a simple peasant shirt made of coarse material and loose pants. Seeing that Faramir was not in his room, she made her way down to the more repugnant, immoral levels of the City, hoping to find him. She entered a noisy tavern, still full of light and life. Even though she wore plain clothes, eyebrows were still raised at those who noticed her in this crowded area, though no one dared say anything. 

She moved through the tavern, breathing in the disgusting fumes of drunken men retching, hearing the groans of immoral men and women giving in to their lust. She felt her stomach turn, and her dinner creep back up on her, making her nauseous, but she pressed on. One raucous man even grabbed her, holding her in an embrace, feeling her slender body. She quickly pushed him back, glaring at him, and moving away quickly. A few other men, recognizing the Lady, held the drunken man back as he rose again to try and seduce the fiery maiden. 

She heard wild, raucous laughter echoing from the very back of the tavern. She hid herself just from view and she saw Faramir, surrounded by women, with one most favored wench perched upon his knee, dressed scantily, with her arms wrapped around his neck, and pressing her lips about his neck and body. As she watched, a scorching emotion exploded within her, as she lost all of the control she had gathered throughout the years, and allowed her jealousy to overtake her. She screamed, ran out, and threw the wench off Faramir. "Faramir, son of Denethor, what are you doing here?" she screamed.

"May I ask if it is any of your business? Why are you here? Not indulging in passion with your Rohirric prince?" he asked, icy steel curving his voice. 

She ignored the obvious insult, though her blood broiled even further and said, "What would Father and Boromir say if they saw you here?"

"Actually, Boromir would be quite pleased, as he himself habitually frequents this place," Faramir replied, glaring at her, as the woman Elentari had shoved got back up and stood beside Faramir, moving her experience hands through his body, glaring at Elentari with hatred, looking quite disheveled. 

"What's wrong with you? You never used to be like this. You hated ale. You hated disrespectable places like these. What has gotten into you? You never frequented with women." 

"Oh. So you can dance and flaunt with any man you wish and yet bind me? I have as much as right as any man in all Arda to be here," Faramir said, "Now go back. Your horseman is waiting, his bed grown cold." 

"Watch your mouth, Faramir," she barked. 

"Who are you to tell me? You have no right in any way. It is by our sympathy and grace that you live every day. You would have died along with that mother of yours if we had not taken you in," Faramir wanted, needed to hurt her. Jealousy pounded in his veins, and he wanted to make her suffer as much as he did. "Now. Leave me alone. Go and be a whore to that—slap! He did not get a chance to finish, as soon as the word "whore" left his mouth, she struck him across the face, leaving a red mark. She gasped, as she had never struck him before, her eyes brimmed with tears. He was stunned, but quickly refastened his façade of haughtiness and aloofness, uncaring about her, though inside, he was teeming.

"How dare you call me a whore when you yourself are amongst these foul creatures? These women would gladly share yours, or any man in this City's bed for a few gold coins. These women sell their bodies for a night or two, satisfying the lust of every and any man, with enough money to pay them, for things to eat, jewels to wear. You call me a whore? You yourself, who has on more than one occasion tried to seduce me, know that I have never given in. Maybe Lord Denethor was right. Maybe you are a curse to this family. A curse to Gondor, a curse to all of Arda beyond the circles of the world. I rue and curse the day when Lady Finduilas brought you into this world," she spat out the words, then turned, and fled out of the tavern. 

She was not able to go far however, before Faramir grabbed her roughly from behind and pinned her to the wall. "Let me go," she struggled against him. She remembered the last time he had done this, merely a few weeks ago, but that had been out of play, of love. She had not feared him then, even enjoyed and desired him. A fire had burned in his eyes then, a fire of passion and desire, as a fire burned now. But this fire was of fury, of jealousy, of cruelty, of malice. He wanted to hurt her. He needed to wound her. Every part of his being desperately wanted to avenge the pain she had put him through, though unintentional as it was. As hard as she struggled, he would not relent, his arms shoving her, his grip on her had become painful. 

"I had thought I loved you once. How wrong I was then. How wrong I was to ever think you had a heart. You told me you loved me. You didn't. You merely wanted to see how much you could control me. You keep saying that you have to, you have to choose that man. You have to. It's your duty. Well, soon, it's going to be your duty to share his bed, to bear him children. Give his realm an heir. You want to do your duty then? You hold yourself so high. Just because you have Elven blood and you've been raised in the House of the Steward, but you're no better than these women. These women actually earn their living, not leech off the generosity of another house and live off the memory of your mother," he cursed her. She had never seen him like this, no one had. He was cruel, crueler than any Orc blade. He laughed, a maniacal laugh, seeing the pain in her eyes, as tears welled in them. Who was this man? Where had Faramir, sweet Faramir gone?

"You think you are better than me. You think you are better than everyone else. Just because you know a few Elven songs of old and how to fight with a sword doesn't make you any better or higher than any of these people here. Doesn't make you any better than me either," he spat in her face. She could only shake her head, trying not to let his words hit her as she felt herself being plunged into icy water, with a thousand knives stabbing at her. She couldn't think. She could barely breathe. Her arms were numb with the force he exerted on them. 

Finally, he released her, taking his arms off, but shoving her to the entrance of the tavern, "Get thee gone from my sight." She ran back. She did not stop running. She did not look back as she moved through the levels of the City until she came to the Citadel. Boromir saw her, tears streaking her face, her hair disheveled, her sobs wracking through her body and echoing in the lonely stone, but she sped past him. She ran into her room, bolted the door shut, and collapsed on her bed, the bed she had shared with Faramir.  
Her tears soaked her pillow. Her sobs wracked her body as it shook with sorrow. His words had hit her hard. He was her only reason for living, and now he turned upon her. She cried until there were no more tears left, and then, blood welled from her eyes, until sleep sealed her eyes, but even then, she could not forget his stinging, cruel words.  
  
A/N: I hope you liked it. I named this chapter "The Mask" for several reasons. One, because of the masquerade ball. Two. Their ironic masks. Three. The masks fall from their faces, as their darker sides are revealed. I know. Most people will yell at me for making Faramir seem so cruel, but you have to admit, everyone has a dark side, even gentle Faramir, whom you know I love. It broke my heart to write him as such! Reviews are welcome! 


	16. Dying Light

A/N: This chapter wasn't as flowing as I wished it to be. I don't even like it very much, but it's for the readers to decide. Reviews are VERY welcome!! One song. Hey, I haven't had a song in a while, okay? I couldn't resist. "Evening Falls" by Enya. I don't know. This chapter is odd. R/R! Thanks to all the reviewers.  
  
To Jazmin, I'm glad you liked the fight.  
  
Chapter 16: Dying Light  
  
Soon after all the guests left, from Araniel to Theodred, Elentari locked herself in her room, refusing to see anyone.  
Theodred had kissed her hand gently, after a serious, private discussion with Denethor that had consumed the whole morning. "Fare thee well, my sweet Lady. My heart shall not be content until I look upon thee again. Your kindness and beauty will be known in my country."  
"Thank you, my Lord. Your presence here has been most welcome. You may return any time you wish. These doors will always be open to you, as long as I abide by them," she returned, a warm smile upon her face. Yet inside, she felt cold, cold as the first winter snow, cruel, barricading people inside. Faramir's words had created a rift in her heart, a deep fissure that could never be bridged. Theodred smiled one last time, kissed her hand, and rode off with his men. She watched as he, the last to depart, faded into the horizon, and fled back to the safety of her chamber, determined to forget all that had happened in these past few days, but knew, it was impossible. Nothing could blot out the words that stung her heart. Nothing, not even Elbereth's shining stars could erase the fury and hatred in his voice and eyes. Boromir came to see her, but she refused to open the door. He stood by it for some time, but left after hearing no response and utter silence.  
When Elentari did not show for dinner that night, Denethor himself came to her chamber, but again, she did not answer. Gossip about that night in the tavern had spread through the City like wildfire and had reached Boromir's ears, from a few of the serving women who flirted with him, hoping to catch his eye. He urged Faramir, who had hid himself in the library all day, dodging view and pretending nothing in the world was wrong, to go and speak to Elentari. He ardently refused, protesting that it was not his problem.  
Boromir was shocked and confounded. What had happened between these two? Why did they shun each other so? Usually, Faramir could not wait till dawn to come so that he and Elentari could plan their next misadventures together. Now, he avoided her, keeping to himself, acting like he didn't care for her at all. She was also being just as obstinate. He knew that if Faramir would not come out first, she would not go apologize after that incident in the tavern. She was proud, that he knew, as was Faramir, and stubborn. Yet he was worried about them, especially her, for he had seen Faramir, had spoken to him, had touched him. Where was she? He knew nothing of her except his assumption that she was still in her room. He had not heard a sound coming from beyond that sealed wooden door, except an occasional sob, and that was early in the morning. As news reached Denethor however, he seemed not to be concerned, even when he heard of Faramir and his incident in the tavern. Usually, he would be furious, irate with his younger son, as he disapproved of any contact with those "inadequate folk", as he liked to refer to them as. However, he always turned a blind eye whenever any report of Boromir came up, but would dismiss a maidservant if there were rumors of her dishonorable conduct.  
As rumor and gossip spread through the City, another one added. The Lady Elentari had taken ill and had been moved to the Houses of Healing. This first part was true, yet not the latter. She had abjectly refused to be moved anywhere, as after a full day of not hearing a sound from her in her room, Boromir almost broke down the door getting to her. He had found her, shaking, her teeth clenched, clutching her coverlets. Her face was ashen, streaked with memories of tears. There were traces of blood and vomit on some parts of the floor and on her pillow. He had instantly called for help and attempted to carry her to the Healing Houses, but she clung to her bedpost, sapping all the energy she had left, refusing to leave the safety of her room. Boromir, not wanting to hurt her, sent for a Healer.  
Several had come, the Master Healer himself, but none could find what was wrong with the Lady. He had shook his head, looking puzzled, thinking of all possibilities, but no one knew what was ailing the Star Maiden. They had wanted her to come to the Healing Houses, but she adamantly refused, not uttering a word, shaking her head violently, and clutching her childhood doll Finduilas had made for her.  
They had done everything possible to make her comfortable, and had posted a healer somewhere close by, though they hid from her view, as she refused to let anyone watch over her. Boromir did not know what was wrong with her. Was it to do with Faramir? It must have. Yet what could drive her to this? Boromir stayed by her side, as he was the only company she would allow. He watched her piteously as she curled up in a ball, shaking, her hands cold, yet face burning. Every so often, she would gag and then violently retch; sometimes missing the bowl they had placed for her. Then she would pathetically gasp for air at short intervals and cough. The phlegm that she coughed off was discarded, and Boromir noticed sometimes it was mixed with blood. He clutched her hand, and spoke to her, but she would utter no reply.  
"Elentari. Come on. Talk to me. Just because you are ill does not mean you cannot speak. Please? Your voice was the loveliest thing about you. Please let me hear it," Boromir coaxed. She shook her head.  
"Tell me what is ailing you, dear sister. I know it is this sudden sickness, but I fear in my heart that it is more than this. What is it?" At this, she turned, facing him, her grey eyes dull. He was taken aback for a moment, as the playful light in her sea-grey eyes that had shone like the ripples of the Sea at sunset, had dimmed, leaving a rather lifeless look. He held her sorrowful gaze, until suddenly, her eyes darted to the door quickly, and it seemed to him a beacon of light appeared behind them, but was quickly quenched. He quickly turned, to see Faramir quickly move pass the door. So he does care. So his concern did best him. He couldn't go that long without seeing her. Boromir smiled. It would not be long before Faramir's anxiety and guilt would overpower him, and he would come to see her.  
  
Faramir quickened his footsteps as he passed. He had left his room, with the intention of questioning the Healer stationed in the Hall, but seeing her door open just across from his, he could not help but glance into it. He promised himself it would only be a fleeting instant. As he saw her lifeless eyes, guilt gnawed at him, and he could stay no longer. Damn him. Damn his conscience. He had vowed not to care, not to let her win. Not to care for her. Not to love her. Yet why did his blood broil when he thought of her ill? Why was it, that every time he thought of her infirmity, he could no longer do whatever task he was performing, and had to almost chain himself literally, to prevent himself from going to her. Going to her, begging, pleading for forgiveness, cursing himself for his foolish words spoken from fiery jealousy. Why was it that every time he caught himself, he always found himself thinking of her, envisioning her peaceful face as she slept beside him. Feeling her touch, smelling her fragrant hair. Why? Why was he longing to feel her gentle caress and her lips upon his skin? Damn his heart. He would not let her win. He would not give in. "Even if I must shatter my heart, I will not give in. I will not grant her a victory. Besides, what is there to shatter? She has already broken it," he vowed to himself, "No. I will not give in. Let us see if Faramir is weak or not." He went to the Healer, who saw him and quickly bowed.  
"My Lord Faramir."  
"How is she?" he whispered, not wanting her to hear, as her room was just down the Hall. He beckoned to the Healer, who followed him to a more secluded area.  
"We do not know. We have made her as comfortable as possible, but even that is not helping. We have treated her with herbs. We have not seen such a case ever since the time of," he hesitated for a moment, causing Faramir to press him, "Since the illness of Lady Finduilas, who suffered similar conditions. We could not do anything for her then." The thought of his mother touched Faramir, but then worry filled his heart, "She won't die, like Mother did, will she?"  
"I think not. She is younger and stronger," the Healer said, "Would you like to hear my personal opinion, my Lord?"  
"Yes, tell me, please."  
"I feel it is more a contest of will than anything. I feel that if the Lady has the will to survive, and the heart to live, then she will be fine," he added the last part pointedly, "If she feels that there is a reason to live, she will."  
That infuriating guilt, it was gnawing at him again. He could not help but feel a bit irritated at the Healer. He knew that he had spoken these words deliberately, hearing the rumors.  
"Why do you feel that it is the same illness as Mother's?" Faramir questioned, forcing himself to ignore the Healer's previous words.  
"Finduilas's illness, though it was predicted, it could not be aided."  
"Why do you say that? Predicted?"  
The Healer sighed and murmured, "It is not my place to say, my Lord."  
"I grant thee the permission to say whatever thee feels is proper, now tell me," Faramir said impatiently.  
"Well," the Healer still looked a bit uncomfortable, "Some in the City feel that Lady Finduilas, she didn't die, she withered. She withered like a flower of the seaward vales set upon a barren rock. The City suffocated her." His words frightened Faramir, for he remembered Elentari's words that night a few years ago. She had felt the cold stone trapped and smothered her. She hated the loneliness of the stone of Minas Tirith, though it was home. She had begged him to free her, to take her to Ithilien where she could gaze at the stars without being behind bars.  
"My Lord?" the Healer said, not hearing any response from Faramir, who was lost in his own thoughts and worries.  
"It is nothing. Thank you for speaking to me of these things," he said, and walked away.  
  
By nightfall, her vomiting had ceased, but she was as silent as ever, her eyes gazing to the south, to the Sea she loved, and upwards, to her ever-shining stars. Boromir had not left her for long all day. However, Denethor requested his presence at the evening meal, where he questioned his elder son.  
"How is she?" the Steward asked.  
"A small bit better, but not by much, her vomiting stopped," he replied, sipping his wine, "The Healers know naught what do to."  
Father and son continued to eat in silence, as Faramir had chosen to take his meal elsewhere.  
"What say you to the matching of your sister and Theodred of Rohan?" Denethor asked.  
"I say it is a fine match, if she gave her consent. That is, if she truly granted her heart to him," Boromir replied.  
"She seemed to accept him," Denethor said.  
"Elentari is a great actress, and remember Father, you ordered her to," Boromir pointed out, testing his Father's temper, "Besides. I do not believe that Theodred wishes a bride whose heart lies elsewhere, with another."  
Denethor's neck turned a deeper shade of red as he thought of Faramir.  
"Do they not understand that such a love is forbidden?" he scowled, speaking of Faramir and Elentari.  
"By what law, my Lord?"  
"There is no law. It is merely common decency," Denethor snapped, "Brother and sister cannot wed. Incest is forbidden."  
"Incest is forbidden, yes. But my Lord, you forget that Elentari is not really our sister. As much as we treat her and love her as one, she is not of our blood."  
"You yourself speak that is a good match, between our Elentari and Theodred of Rohan. Why do you defend them so fiercely then?" Denethor asked perplexed.  
"Because I do not wish to see Elentari chained to a man she does not love. I do not wish to see her wither and die in a distant land among strangers unknown to her, away from those she loves and loves her."  
"She cannot wed Faramir!" his voice rising.  
"Nor does Faramir wish to wed her," a familiar voice said. Father and son looked up to see the younger standing by the door.  
"What?" Boromir asked, shocked.  
"Father, you are Lord of this land. You can do whatever you see as best, including arranging the wedlock of your children," Faramir said. Denethor's eyes narrowed suspiciously.  
"And what, my son, do you suggest?" he asked shrewdly.  
"Marry Elentari to the man you see as best fit for her," Faramir suggested, his eyes blazing in anger, "And if I am not wrong, I believe that to be Theodred of Rohan."  
"Faramir, what are you saying?" Boromir asked, knowing Faramir did not mean his words.  
"He speaks the truth, Boromir. Maybe you were not as unintelligent as I first presumed, Faramir," Denethor said, evidently pleased, but not completely believing Faramir's earnest proposition. Faramir sat down at the table welcomer to his father than he had been since Finduilas's death.  
  
Elentari's mysterious illness passed as suddenly as it came; yet it left her changed. There was a veil between her and this world, a shroud over her once-shining eyes and smiling face. It was as she had passed to Mandos in heart, but breath still lingered upon her body. She moved through this world, but was not a part of it. Boromir saw this, and was worried about her, but the Healers could not help him at all. They knew not what ailed her or how to treat it. They no longer had no excuse to hold her, but they knew she was not healed. Yet she insisted to be let free, so they held her not.

Faramir had left the City, back into the Wild, but not before he had been seen regularly with a few respectable maidens, daughters of Gondorian lords eager to please. One particular maiden stuck out from the rest, Sanya, daughter of Maranya. She and her older sister Faila were considered jewels of Gondor, as they were both strikingly fair women. Faila, the elder had flirted with Boromir on more than one occasion, whisking her light hair, the color daisies she shared with her sister, about Boromir's face. Sanya, though she was slim, seemed naught, as her shorter height did not convey this. Her light hair paler than straw matched with a pair of clear blue eyes. She was charming; no man denied that, yet once her fiery temper was aroused, she flew into a fit of rage, when no one, save her sister, dared approach her. Faramir was often seen with her, strolling around the levels of the City, from her home on the fifth level all the way to the Citadel. She giggled and tossed back her fair hair as they walked along, arms linked. Denethor welcomed her to his halls and often invited her father, along with her and her sister, over to dinner, where she sat beside Faramir, throwing him glances, giggling at his every remark. Elentari watched them with dull yet suspicious eyes. Nothing seemed to captivate her interest as it once did, not even Faramir.

It was on one such occasion, when Maranya and his daughters came to dine with the Steward and his family, that Denethor once again broached the subject of marriage. This time, it was more than Elentari whom he referred to.

"Tell me, Maranya, what say you on the marriage of Faila?" Denethor asked on the elder sister, who, on hearing this, lowered her head and smiled, as was customary.

"There have been a few matches, but none suitable yet, my Lord," Maranya replied, hoping to spark Denethor's interest.

"What of the younger?" he asked, noting her looks at Faramir.

"Well, I was hoping that if she found a worthy man, she would let me know so I could arrange it," Maranya replied, looking at his daughter. Boromir glanced uneasily at Elentari, who either did not care, or was finding her plate very fascinating.

"Elentari. What say you of the match I proposed? You have spoken naught of it," Denethor probed, causing Elentari's head to snap up.

"What of it, my Lord?" she asked, her voice quivering.

"Well, have you thought of it? Do you find it suitable?" he asked.

"If there is naught holding me here, my Lord, I will do what duty you ask of me, to the best of my ability," she replied, looking away, swallowing a lump in her throat.

"You speak of marriage as if it were a sentence of death," Denethor accused, a bit angrily.

"That would depend on the marriage," Elentari returned, raising her eyes to meet that of the Steward.

"The marriage to Theodred of Rohan," Denethor replied, "You know well of what I speak."

"If you will it my Lord," she said, a sigh reverberating from her throat. Boromir interrupted, addressing Faramir and Maranya, to avert disaster.

After Maranya had left with his two lovely daughters, Denethor confronted his children, especially the younger. "Elentari. I wish to have a decisive answer for your part on the match. What say you?" Denethor demanded.

"I told you Father, if you wish it," she replied, her eyes dead.

"I do not wish to push you into a marriage you do not wish," Denethor said, his eyes softening a bit. Boromir bit back a remark at this, for he did not wish to anger his father, and he also wanted to see what she would say. She gazed Faramir for a moment, seeing no response from him, closed her eyes to show a repressed sigh, lowered her head, and said, "My wish matters not, my Lord, for there are none here who heed it. I will do whatever you command." With that, she left the room, her soft tread heard in the marble halls, that soon echoed with the faint reverberation of her voice.

When the evening falls and the daylight is fading,

From within me calls-could it be I am sleeping?

For a moment I stray, then it holds me completely,

Close to home-I cannot say. Close to home, feeling so far away  
  
As I walk the room there before me a shadow

From another world, where no other can follow

Carry me to my own, to where I can cross over

Close to home-I cannot say Close to home, feeling so far away  
  
Forever searching; never right I am lost in the oceans of night

Forever hoping I can find memories

Those memories I left behind  
  
Even though I leave, will I go on believing

That this time is real, am I lost in this feeling?

Like a child passing through, never knowing the reason

I am home-I know the way

I am home, feeling so far away


	17. Control

A/N: This chapter is very short, kind of a transitioning chapter. I could've made it longer, but the ending is a bit 'dramatic' in a way, I suppose. Reviews are VERY welcome, especially with suggestions on what you wish to see in the next few chapters. I have an ending in mind, but right now, I need the stuff to get there, so suggestions are very welcome. R/R! Thanks to all the reviewers.  
  
Just as I added the "dark side" to Faramir and Elentari, this chapter adds Denethor's "good side".  
  
Chapter 17: Control  
  
Rustling as the wind blows through them, the golden leaves fall, one by one, off their majestic branches. Snow fills the now empty trees. The songs of the sweet birds cease for a season. And when the first nightingale lets loose its melodious song, the new generation of youthful leaves, of every shade of fragrant green, replace where their predecessors once were.  
So the seasons passed, one after the other, always the same. Yet inside the White City, things were not the same. Faramir now called Ithilien home, for love he found not in the halls of marble. One whom he yearned for found solace in the rippling foam of the Sea; her now lightless eyes straining ever westward.  
"Theodred of Rohan will be coming for another visit," the Steward announced one day, when his adopted daughter was tending to him in his cold, empty hall. Elentari glanced briefly up, then lowered her head again.  
"He is coming when the winds turn, and infant spring passes into summer," the Steward announced. A faint smile reached the young woman's lips as she thought of a lovelorn Denethor reciting poetry, "He plans to stay for a modest length of time this visit, much longer than the last."  
"And his intentions are?" she asked faintly, as was the custom.  
"You know very well what his intentions are, dear girl," Denethor snapped, a bit irritated, "You need not be so formal with me Elentari."  
"My apologies, my Lord," she said, curtsying.  
"Did I not just say do not be so formal? We are not on court," he said. She nodded, keeping her eyes down, her stare blank.  
Denethor left his enormous chair and went to her. Clasping her icy hands in his, he lifted her chin so she had to meet his gaze. He held it for a significant amount of time, reading her, seeing through the façade that shrouded her, piercing her despair and melancholy.  
"These halls have not shared your laughter, nor heard your lovely voice raised in sweet melody for quite some time, my daughter," he finally said, "Why is this?"  
She averted her gaze, and murmured, "It is nothing, my Lord."  
"Will you no longer name me Father?" There was pain in his eyes; something the Steward of Gondor rarely allowed to be seen, "Ever since your illness, something within you has perished. Vanished beyond our recall. What cares may I bear for you? How may I aid you, my dear daughter?"  
"Father, you know I love you, and I would do anything for you, but please do not press me," she murmured, her eyes hollow and sad.  
"I do not wish to force you into a loveless marriage you do not desire," Denethor said. There was almost a trace of pleading in his voice.  
"I have told you many a time. I will do whatever duty is laid upon my shoulders to the best of my ability," she returned, almost as a reciting a piece of formality.  
There was sorrow in Denethor's eyes as he looked upon his foster daughter, one whom he loved in his own form and fashion.  
"Wedlock is not a duty," he said.  
"But Father, you yourself said it was. Once you are married, you carry a duty towards your husband. There is duty in the household, and later on, with the children. Besides, all of life is a duty. You hold allegiance to one, faith to another. You perform what is expected of you. You love because you must, because you hold a duty to your heart, not to neglect it, letting it wander astray, alone and forgotten."  
Denethor sighed and a look of sorrow appeared in his eyes as he murmured, "Le ar saila pella loalla."  
It was her turn to shake her head, "Nay. I am not wise. I have just seen much sorrow."  
"Too much for such a young one," Denethor regretted. It was Elentari's turn to comfort, "Do not blame yourself Father. You could not shield us, though you tried your best. Illuvatar has willed it, and so it shall be." Denethor nodded and dismissed her.  
  
Theodred was coming; coming once again. What would happen this time? He was definitely coming for her hand; that she knew. How would Faramir react? Then another thought struck her. Faramir does not care. Faramir gave his blessing. He wants you to marry the Horseman. She shook her head. Those words were out of anger. He's certainly had enough time to gather himself and calm. Has he changed? He had thrown himself into other women, flaunting, flirting, even coming close to courting. And yet, every time it seemed like he would ask for permission to court a certain lady, he withdrew, either avoiding her for days, or dwelling in Ithilien.  
She found herself drifting around in the fourth level bazaar, infested with goods, people, and gossip. She bent her head down, pretending to be mesmerized with a certain goblet, and listened to the old wives tell tales, feeding off the leads of the young Citadel women.  
"I heard that the young Lord Faramir will ask for Mistress Sanya's hand soon," a graying woman who had evidently never recovered from her child-bearing years, exclaimed, trying to sound like she was the only one in the City who knew about this. Elentari gritted her teeth, and dug her fingers deep into a piece of fabric she was touching.  
"But what about the Lady Elentari?" a younger one asked, busying over her fabrics.  
"Haven't you heard?" the elder sounded shocked at her uninformed state, "They had that fight, that night in the tavern, remember? Beside that, the Lord Denethor will marry that girl off to some foreigner. She's too useful not to make an alliance from." Useful. Useful. That was what she was. Useful. A tool. A tool bereft of all personal choice and emotion.  
"But how can they be like that? You never saw the Lady too far from Lord Faramir, ever! They were thunder and lightning, never one without the other," another complained.  
"Time changes," the first woman, whom Elentari wanted to strike down said flatly, evidently pleased with herself for knowing what she felt was everything, "Besides, I never understood what that lad saw in her. It might have just been both losing their mothers at such a young age. Lord Denethor will see a fit marriage for both of them. She will marry a foreigner, probably that handsome Horseman from the North. Once she's married, he'll probably find a lady of high birth for Faramir, and that'll be that. That Elentari is not fit for him." That was all she could bear to hear, as she fled from the marketplace.  
Not fit for Faramir. Marriage to a foreigner to form an alliance for Gondor. Duty, how she hated that word. It bound her, forced her to do things she did not want. Forced her away from her heart's desires and made her vulnerable.  
As she stood at the tip of the seventh level, with nothing above her but the afternoon sky and Anar, making her daily trip through the sky, she felt so small, glancing down at the massive, bustling City full of life. The City below her was massive, but the sky above her was infinite. She could be swept away by the wind, or swallowed by the Sea; she had no control over that, just like she had no control over her life. She was a sail less ship tossed by the heaving waves of raging Ulmo, helpless, praying to Lady Uinen to sate his fury. She would wait for Theodred's arrival and after that, for her wedding day. She would move through her days, already played out for her. 


	18. Balances

A/N: LONG chapter! Reviews are ALWAYS welcome, especially with suggestions on what you wish to see in the next few chapters. I have an ending in mind, but right now, I need the stuff to get there, so suggestions are very welcome. R/R! Thanks to all the reviewers.  
  
Thanks to Unicorn!! She gave me the lyrics to the song I use in here "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Miserables. Thanks so much!  
  
Chapter 18: Balances  
  
The Horn of Gondor was heard in the distance, approaching from the hills. Boromir has returned! Yet when the guards were busy opening the great gate, they heard another horn, one that was not familiar. After standing, mystified by this mysterious, yet pleasant sound, an older guard exclaimed, "That is the Horn of Eorl. Long has it been since it was heard in these lands." A group of horsemen were approaching, lead by one on a magnificent chestnut stallion.  
"The Rohirrim! The Rohirrim have come!" the cry ran through the City, till it reached the ears of the Steward, still embracing his elder son. Upon hearing the news, Elentari flew to the walls, looking down upon her fate.  
The Gate was open, and the Riders dismounted, greeted warmly by the Steward and his son. The leader removed his helmet, revealing the strong, fair features of the Prince of the Rohirrim, Theodred.  
"We have been expecting you," Denethor greeted. The two younger men, Boromir and Theodred embraced briefly. Elentari stood at a modest distance behind Denethor, waiting to be addressed, as was formality.  
After the men had greeted each other fully, Theodred looked behind Denethor, and offered her a smile, which she returned, though lowered her eyes, as was custom. Denethor beckoned for her, and she came forth. She curtsied deeply and smiled, "It brings joy to my heart to see thee."  
"My eyes have not delighted in sight since I left," he returned. She smiled, knowing his flattery.  
"How long shall you be staying with us this time?" Boromir asked.  
"For as long as I am welcome, and my people do not need me," Theodred said.  
"If it were only the first, you should not look on your return," Elentari said, cheeks flushing.  
"Come. Your men must be tired and ravenous. Let us refresh ourselves," Denethor beckoned them all into the Citadel. As the Rohirrim were eating, Boromir murmured to Elentari, "How fares the City while I'm gone?"  
"It goes on, though we miss you, dear brother."  
"How fare thee?" Boromir asked.  
Elentari looked down, fumbling with the hem of her dress, "Adequate."  
"Somehow, I recall the last time you said that word, you were twelve and you and Faramir had just lost Father's scepter, and were looking forward to a harsh scolding."  
"I would not say lost, merely misplaced," she corrected, recalling the childhood memory.  
"Oh yes. You found it again. How many years later?" Boromir teased, feigning memory loss.  
"It was eleven months, barely a year!" she corrected, grinning, yet it faded when she asked, "How fares Faramir?"  
"Adequate," Boromir echoed.  
"Please tell me, brother," she begged.  
Boromir sighed and said flatly, "He misses you."  
A hollow laugh came from her, but he pressed on, "He does. He dreams of you at night, calling your name in his sleep. I've heard him singing songs you shared. I've even caught him crying, cursing himself for his harsh words."  
"Yet he does not admit it."  
"He shall."  
"Yet he does not now," she returned.  
"Faramir knows his folly," Boromir stated.  
"Yet is too proud to overcome it."  
Boromir was quiet for a moment, "But why do you not go to him?"  
A dry, thin smile creased her lips, "Pride is bred in the House of the Steward."  
Boromir shook his head, "If you both desire each other, and recognize your folly, why do you press on? Why do you not reconcile? Be happy again, both of you."  
"It's not that simple Boromir," she sighed.  
"Fine. Then tell me how it is not as simple as my uncomplicated mind believes."  
Elentari sighed again, her eyes heavy, "The world is so simple to you, isn't it Boromir? You have seen so much; yet let so little reach you. Is there nothing other than arms to you in this world? Even if Faramir and I overcame our pride, it would never become of anything. It is better this way."  
"How?"  
"Because this way, we will not bid each other farewell painfully," Elentari forced herself to say.  
"Why must you bid farewell?"  
"Don't be so naïve Boromir. Look at those men. They have only one purpose here, to escort me back to their home with them. Faramir is the only obstacle in their course. I will not have him place himself in the way."  
"But he loves you! And you love him," Boromir protested.  
"More the reason to keep him away," Elentari said.  
"You should not do this. You should not have to do this."  
"Yet I must."  
"Look, Elentari," Boromir said flatly, "Sooner or later, word will reach Theodred, and he shall hear of you and Faramir."  
"Yes, and if nothing exists, it is all the better."  
"But something did exist, still does!"  
"It does not. It is gone Boromir," though she but whispered the words, the look in her eyes showed that it was final.  
  
"What does my Lord wish to do?" Elentari asked.  
"What does Gondor have to offer?" Theodred inquired.  
"The best wine and food. The best mortal craftsman and loremasters," she said.  
"And the fairest maidens," Theodred added. Elentari blushed, smiling, and turned away a bit. "Does my Lady wish to ride?"  
"Very much so," Elentari said, a smile appearing, "I have not gone out since the last winter rains."  
"Now the summer sun shines down upon us. Let us go," Theodred summoned and they made their way to the stables, "Besides. You promised me you would race me."  
"I was hoping you would forget," Elentari said, saddling restless Talcalina.  
"Beautiful horse," Theodred breathed, his ancestral instinct appearing. He stroked the mare, who tossed her mane back, but did not draw away from his touch. He spoke to her softly a few times, and then offered her an oat, which she accepted.  
"She likes you," Elentari said.  
"Does her rider?" Theodred asked.  
"That shall be seen," Elentari said, kicking off immediately on Talcalina, leaving Theodred behind. He quickly mounted Brego and chased after her. He caught up to her right beyond the City gate, riding hard on the Pelennor.  
"Where are we going?" Theodred asked, pulling up beside her.  
"Into the hills," she motioned. Talcalina rambled up the hills eagerly, with Brego closely following. Isilmë guided her horse past trees and bushes, then more and more, until behind the final cluster, there revealed was a lush clearing, with a glistening stream trickling through. She dismounted, and Theodred followed her in suit. She sighed contently, feasting her eyes on the beloved site.  
"Tis a beautiful place," Theodred said admiringly.  
Elentari nodded, "We used to come here whenever we had free time. We would lay in the sun and count the clouds."  
"We?"  
She hesitated for a moment, pain jabbing through her, "Yes. My brother and I."  
"Boromir?"  
"Nay, Faramir," she whispered, the blissful memories causing her eyes to water as she thought of days long past. They would never be the same again. They would never share those times again.  
"Oh. The younger," Theodred said, "It never occurred to me that Boromir of Gondor would be one for leisurely cloud-gazing."  
She smiled, though turning away to hide her eyes glistening with tears, "Boromir has his peaceful times." From her satchel, she removed a batch of food.  
"Are you hungry, my Lord?"  
"Very much so," Theodred admitted. They settled down and began eating. Brego came over and nudged Theodred, who fed him a carrot. Brego snorted and nuzzled his master's head.  
"Ai Brego," he murmured stroking his horse lovingly.  
"His name is kingly," Elentari whispered, "He is a fine horse."  
"Yes. The best horse a man could have," Theodred praised, "We found him as a young foal, running wild outside Edoras. I took him in. He is a gift from the Lady Epona herself."  
"Is not Epona the lady of horses?" Elentari questioned.  
"Yes. In old Rohirric myths; her birds are said to lull the living to sleep and awaken the dead," Theodred explained.  
"I have read of such, a long time ago," Elentari said.  
"You are well read my lady."  
"Father did not approve of Faramir and I constantly spending our days in the library reading tales of old. Of Aman, of Westernessë, of the old days of evil. I picked up a few Rohirric myths along the way."  
"You are so different from her," Theodred murmured.  
"From who?"  
"My cousin, Eowyn. You are so different, yet so alike. She lost her mother early also and grew up in our household. Yet she has a brother, Eomer, a few years her senior. She has the blood and spirit of a shieldmaiden of old. Even at her young age, it is evident that she would rather ride in an eored and battle Orcs all day than read of Numenor," Theodred said.  
"I love riding, but not battle. If it were my way, the world would be rid of metal and war," she said.  
"Alas it is not so," Theodred sighed.  
"Tell me more about her," Elentari was interested.  
"She is fair. Some people call her the White Lady, with her pale ivory skin and golden hair."  
"Much like you," Elentari said.  
"She is fairer than I. Eowyn is lovely, yet cold, yet she is not to blame for that. She hates the confines of Meduseld and would sooner be riding with my eored." These words reminded Elentari of herself. Somehow, her heart told her that she would one day be tied, in some way to this Eowyn of Rohan. Yet it was not through marriage to Theodred and she shuddered, as a cold shadow crept upon her.  
Just then, the horns echoing from the City broke her dark thoughts. She was immediately to her feet, as she saw a group of thirty or so riders approach the City, bearing the flag of the White Tree. She instantaneously recognized Faramir riding in the front, though she was at such a distance that even the Elven archers would have had difficulty.  
"Faramir," she breathed, a touch of longing in her voice that Theodred picked up. Talcalina was by her side in an instant, "We must return to the City." Theodred mounted Brego and followed her.  
As they entered the City gate, Faramir and his men were just ahead. She cried out, against her will, "Faramir!" He turned, with his helmet just removed, and upon seeing her; his eyes were filled with surprise upon seeing her, yet intense longing. His eyes clearly told her, "I've missed you. Please come back to me." Yet a moment later, he regained himself, and turned away. She stood practically transfixed, her eyes following him as he walked away, until she felt Theodred by her side, who followed her eyes onto Faramir.  
She tore her gaze off of Faramir, and taking an alternate route, led Theodred back to the Citadel. There, he left the family together to greet the returning younger son, and saw to his men.  
Upon his entrance, the noisy room immediately became silent. This startled Theodred, for his men had always held him for one of them, never withholding anything from him that they shared.  
"Why such silence upon my arrival?" he questioned, glancing at his men.  
"Tis nothing, my Lord," one named Halas mumbled, averting his gaze from Theodred's piercing stare.  
"I would not have my men hiding anything from me," Theodred said, "Speak." The men gazed at each other, and finally, Halas spoke.  
"Naturally my Lord, we have been out and about in this City, and we have heard much of the talk circulating in it."  
"Continue," Theodred ordered.  
"Much of the talk has been about you, my Lord, and the fair Lady."  
"Yes," Theodred said, expecting more.  
"They have told many tales. Most of them say that you plan to wed her, which we all know."  
"Then what is the problem?" Theodred asked.  
"Yet there has been much argument and debate over your marriage. It seems that the Lady does not wish to marry you, but the Steward pushes her towards it. The women say that before our presence last year, the Lady was passionately in love with her brother, the younger son of the Steward, Faramir, I believe his name to be."  
Theodred's eyes narrowed shrewdly. As much as he did not wish to believe such talk, it did make sense to him. Elentari's eyes alighted when she spoke of this beloved brother of hers, and she did speak of him much more than she did of anyone else, even Boromir. Many things she had said alluded that she and Faramir had grown up together, sharing much. And when they had entered the City, she had called to him and her gaze had lingered upon him.  
Halas's voice broke through his thoughts as he continued, "They also say that this passionate affair was broken at our arrival. They are said to have fought, for the Lord Faramir was driven mad by jealousy of you, my Lord. He demanded her to stay away from you, but she refused, which led to them exchanging fierce words. Now they simply ignore each other, though the Lady is said to have tears in her eyes whenever he is around, and he likewise, though not as evident." That is why he turned away when she called to him earlier, Theodred realized. Everything fit, and there was too much evidence to plainly dismiss it as gossip. Yet he did not want to make assumptions or wrong Elentari before he knew anything for certain. It could simply all be old wives' tales.  
"Thank you Halas, but I would trust that you men will not assume or believe anything that you do not completely know as true," Theodred cautioned.  
"Of course not, my Lord," one said, "They are merely possibilities."  
"Thank you for informing me," Theodred said. He left the room and made way for the Citadel, meaning to speak to Boromir. Instead, he crossed upon Faramir, sitting upon the steps of the Citadel. Theodred greeted him, but received only a cool nod as acknowledgement.  
"If you are looking for Isilmë, she is inside, with Father," Faramir said coolly, without looking up.  
"Pardon, Isilmë?" Theodred looked puzzled.  
"Oh," Faramir said, realizing Theodred's confusion, "I meant Elentari."  
"Who is Isilmë?" Theodred questioned.  
"Someone of the past," Faramir stammered, a film across his eyes. Theodred left him, as he clearly did not wish to converse any longer, and searched for Boromir.  
  
Someone of the past--Isilmë. She was gone, banished from his heart, yet as he recollected all their memories together, that sweet voice that often lulled him to sleep and soothed his hurts drifted out of the stone once more, in lament.  
I dreamed a dream in time gone by  
When hope was high and life worth living  
I dreamed of a love that would never die  
I dreamed of that god would be forgiving.  
  
Then I was young and unafraid,  
And dreams were made and used and wasted,  
There was no ransom to be paid, no duty.  
No song un-song, no wine un-tasted.  
  
But the tigers come at night  
With their voices soft as thunder  
As they tear your hope apart  
As they turn your dreams to shame.  
  
He slept a summer by my side.  
He filled my days with endless wonder.  
He took my childhood in his stride.  
But he was gone when autumn came.  
  
And still I dreamed he would come to me.  
That we would live the years together  
But there are dreams that cannot be  
And there are storms we cannot weather.  
  
I had a dream my life would be  
So different from that I'm living  
So different now from what it seemed  
  
Now life had killed the dream I dreamed.  
  
Did she not know how much I have missed her? That I still love her? She does not know for you will not let her know. You push her away and you make it seem to her that you hate her. Will you not go to her? Will you not beg for forgiveness? Will you not take her into your embrace as you have longed to? She will not take me back that easily, and besides, I will not crawl at her feet.  
  
"Boromir!" Theodred called, seeing Boromir at the end of the hall. Boromir stopped and offered a wide grin.  
"May I have a moment with you, please?" Theodred asked.  
"Yes, of course. I trust this is important then."  
"Yes, it is," Theodred said, "Tell me. Have you reason to believe talk about Lady Elentari and your brother, Faramir?"  
The grin on Boromir's face faded, "That would depend on what is being said. Please be frank Theodred."  
"If you will it," Theodred replied, "It is said that Elentari and Faramir are lovers."  
Boromir's face was grave, "I am afraid, I cannot answer that. If you truly wish to know the answer, you must ask Faramir yourself. My apologies. I cannot answer a question of such a nature for it concerns more than I control." He nodded once, a bit coolly, and walked away, attending to his business.  
The only sign of frustration Theodred betrayed was pressing his lips together. He passed a guard and asked for where he could find Faramir, and was pointed towards the archery course.  
  
Faramir indeed had made his way down to the archery course. It had been a long day and her song had brought back things that he had worked for months to block from his mind. He had intended to shoot a quiver of arrows and be done with it, but as he received his bow and quiver, there was already someone on the course. He had half a mind to turn and walk back, but her voice called out to him, though it was little more than a whisper, "Why do you walk away?"  
He did not answer her, but halted his footsteps.  
"Why do you turn away from me?" it was a low whisper.  
"Why should I not?" he finally replied, and he heard her sigh behind him.  
"Because the things we said were out of anger," she whispered, and traipsed under an awning of a hallway that led towards the Citadel. Though he had half a mind not to, he followed her, though standing a respectable distance behind her.  
"Things said in anger are said in a moment in which control is lost, but it is also a moment where we say what we really feel," he snapped.  
She sighed and was at a loss for words, "Faramir."  
"Do not address me in that tone of voice! I have had enough. For twenty long years now, I have abided by your side, sharing everything with you. I have barely a memory that you were not included in. Even in Ithilien, your face would appear to me in everything I saw," Faramir barked, his voice trembling, "I would hear your voice in the wind, feel your touch as it swept through my hair. You were everything to me. Yet it meant nothing to you, did it? It is gone now, Isilmë," that name had not been used for seasons, as no one but Faramir called her by it, "It can never return."  
She closed her eyes for a long moment. If she kept them sealed, then no tears could leak through, yet one stubborn droplet seemed to separate itself from all the rest and trickled down. She sniffled and then whispered, "So, this is what a score of years will finally lead us to, hating one another? Do twenty years mean nothing to you?"

Faramir opened his mouth to refute, to offer some contest to her sorrowful words, but could find none. Yet her words resonated in the air and in his mind, did she mean nothing to him? He knew it was not true, that she meant everything in all of Arda to him, but her words had stung, and could not be erased.

She tried as hard as she could, but those obstinate tears would not relent. They were an unrelenting wave threatening to sweep her anchorless ship up and away, away from the safe harbor, away from all that she worked for, her control. They started trickling, one by one, down her pale cheeks, and her staggered breathing made it evident.

He turned to face her, and with a finger instinctively brushed away her tears, and his hand lingered upon her cheek, caressing it. He could not see her cry and live with himself if he did nothing. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his, and for the first time in many months, they were not filled with the intense fire of wounded jealousy, but with what she had known and longed for, love and tender care. Looking into those sorrowful sea eyes, he forgot all anger and hostility that boiled inside of him. He breathed her name and then, pressed his lips against hers gently. She leaned into him basking in his familiarity and warmth.

Yet while their hearts were reuniting, overcoming their long sunder, basking in bliss and elation, there was one other that stood, a distance away, whose heart was shattering. He had come to confront Faramir about what he had heard, but now, witnessing this heart-rending scene, he needed no words to explain to him. He took a few steps to approach them, but then, decided against it and turned back. Yet he tripped and fell over a great big root, which caused Isilmë to glance up and when she saw him, terror mixed with sorrow filled her features, "No. No. Theodred." He fled from sight and she ran towards the Citadel, "Father will have our heads for this."

Faramir ran after her, "You need not tell him."

"Do you think Theodred will not?" Isilmë stopped, staring at Faramir, "And even if he didn't, word will reach Father somehow." She shook her head, "Rumor spreads quicker than wildfire through this City." She continued to weave her way back up to the Citadel, with Faramir trailing her. However, by the sixth level, she quickly stopped, sighing, "It's best if you do not come with me, toronya."

When he looked at her puzzled, "It will make it even more obvious, and Father will be more enraged at you than at me." Faramir hesitated at her words, as they stung, though he knew that Denethor would be more gentle and forgiving with her than with him. He did not want her to face their father's wrath alone, yet he knew that if he went along, it would only be worse for the both of them, and besides, his anger had not completely subsided yet, both at her and Denethor, and he knew he would wreak havoc if aroused. Slowly, he nodded, and she offered a supporting smile, before she dashed off to the Citadel.  
  
Theodred felt that the world was swirling and crumbling around him at the same time. Could it be a misunderstanding? He had not heard what they had been saying, only saw them embracing. What could he do? He had to do something. He could not live without knowing the truth. He did not wish to confront her, but she had seen him, and had looked at him in terror. He could not leave for that would show hostility and disrespect to the Steward. With this in mind, he headed to the Citadel.  
He found Boromir, and confronted him, "I needed not to question your brother. I witnessed enough evidence with my eyes," Theodred sneered bitterly.  
"What?" Boromir was shocked and troubled.  
"I found your brother Faramir, and Elentari engaging in a passionate embrace," Theodred said, "Can you explain that?"  
Boromir was at a loss for words, but he needed none, for a cold voice said, "No, he cannot, but we can find the answer."  
"Father," Boromir breathed, horrified for he knew that trouble was looming.  
"Elentari," the Steward barked, as the frightened girl scampered in.  
"Yes," her voice quivered.  
"Might you know of what Theodred speaks of?" Denethor asked too sweetly.  
"What does he speak of?" she forced the question out, knowing the answer and dreading her response.  
"Prince Theodred claims to have seen you and Faramir engaging in a passionate embrace," Denethor spelled out, his icy eyes flashing, "Might you verify and explain this?"  
Elentari swallowed, and kept her eyes fixated on the carved stone.  
"No?" Denethor said, "Well then, let us summon one who can." He called to one of the guards, "Bring me Faramir."  
Before the guard could go, Elentari snapped, "No!" and after a few seconds of hesitation, pressured by Denethor's gaze, she stammered, "We have been fighting for the past few months, as you may recall, Father, and today, we finally resolved it, down at the archery course. We embraced out of exaltation. I trust that in Rohan also, it is proper for sister and brother to embrace," Though this situation was dire, Boromir wanted to smile. So they finally reconciled. Denethor's eyes narrowed shrewdly, his lips pressed together into a thin line, but he kept them sealed.  
"My Lord Theodred," Elentari said, turning to face him, "I hope this unfortunate incident does not inhibit your stay with us here. Your presence is most welcome and enjoyed."  
Theodred met her eyes, and said, "Of course not, my Lady. I merely wished to know the explanation to such an event." He bowed and said, "I will see you at supper. May I take my leave now, my Lady?"  
"You may," she granted.  
He smiled, a radiant smile, and left. Her eyes followed him, and when she finally turned, an irate Denethor bulled down on her.  
"I trust such an occurrence shall never happen again," his voice was a deadly whisper.  
"He was not meant to witness such an event," she said.  
"Such an event should not have occurred in the first place," Denethor bellowed, "I thought you and Faramir had ridded of your adolescent folly."  
"It is not folly," her voice was barely audible and her eyes fixed on the ground.  
"Elentari," Denethor's voice was as firm as steel, "Perhaps I need to reemphasize to you why Theodred of Rohan is here and why this is important to us."  
"Us?"  
"Yes, us. It is most important to you. It is significant to me and your brothers, and it is critical to Gondor," Denethor said. She prayed he would not use the word 'duty'.  
"Elentari. When I asked you if you objected to this match, you would not speak, and now, when he is here, intending to ask for your hand, you hesitate and engage in unholy and immoral activities," Denethor sounded exasperated, "Just, just be gone. Do not let such an event occur again in these Halls."  
When Elentari was gone, he turned to his elder son, "Send for Faramir."  
"I do not think that to be wise, Father," Boromir advised.  
"Do it," his tone was final. Within minutes, Faramir stood before his father, where Elentari had previously.  
"I have just heard a most interesting story," his voice was poisonous, "Elentari used her gifts of eloquence and charm to squeeze through, and you are lucky she did."  
"What are you speaking of, my Lord?" Faramir questioned.  
"How would you describe the relationship between you and Elentari at this very moment?" Denethor asked.  
Faramir thought about it for a moment, and then answered sincerely, "Odd." Denethor scoffed, "For all your study of words and lore, you can give me only this?"  
"It is a scale. The balance has just been regained, but is not stable. It can be easily tipped," Faramir said.  
"Do not speak in riddles to your father," Denethor ordered.  
"We have reconciled," Faramir finally stated simply, though his heart was still in turmoil.  
"May I remind you, that Elentari is due to be wed and you yourself are courting a fine lady?" Denethor bellowed.  
"From my last recollection, I believe that Theodred of Rohan, nor has any other suitor proposed to our dear Elentari, so therefore, I do not believe her to be betrothed," Faramir said coolly, "As for my courtship, I have not asked the permission to court any lady from her father, so I have not courted any officially."  
Denethor's eyes were fixed on his younger son. He had thought Faramir gentle, easy to mold and manipulate, but this man standing before him was not the same younger son he had scolded on many an occasion. He was hard as steel, reminding Denethor almost of himself, though he would not admit it.  
He finally said icily and firmly, "Elentari will wed Theodred."  
"Why?" Faramir never broke his father's gaze, "Why must you force her into a marriage that she does not desire?"  
"If she did not desire it, she would have told me," Denethor said, his anger rising with every word.  
"She does not wish to anger you, nor disappoint you. Elentari will face the scorch of death for you, Father. Do not push her too far," Faramir warned.  
"She will wed him," Denethor was firm.  
Faramir's patience finally broke, and he screamed, "Do you wish to kill her as you did mother???"  
Denethor froze. His gaze softened and neither Faramir nor Boromir had ever seen their father like this. He looked—vulnerable. However, that was gone in a fleeting moment, as Denethor's eyes became slits, his voice a deadly whisper, as if among the awakened dead, "You will not speak to me of her ever again," and he left.  
  
A/N: With Theodred and Elentari picnic thing, Theodred mentions Brego being a gift from Lady Epona. I read this in a Celtic mythology book and Epona is said to be the Goddess of Horses, and since the Rohirrim have a very strong Celtic feel, I felt it might be appropriate. Reviews!!!!


	19. It is Done

A/N: This chapter sets up the climax of the story, which is ::gasp:: almost coming to an end! I estimate about 2-3 more chapters! But who knows, I may go on and on and on... Reviews are ALWAYS welcome! I am in need of songs right now, so if anyone knows of any songs that they find suitable to the story, from anyone's perspective, even Denethor, if you shall, please send them to me. My email is in my profile. If you don't have the lyrics, please tell me the song name and artist and I'll find it! Thanks! Review!!!  
  
The one little song is from Moulin Rouge, but I altered it a bit so it's not too recognizable and fits the story better.  
  
Thanks to all the reviewers! Jazmin, I'm working on the happy story, though this one is my priority right now.  
  
Susan—you are awesome!! Thanks for always helping me out with little questions and blocks I have had! Shameless advertising: people! Check out her stories! Her sn is Roisin Dubh.  
  
Chapter 19: It is done  
  
"The first one to the City gate," Elentari challenged.  
"As you wish, my Lady," Theodred bowed on his horse.  
"One, two, three go!" Talcalina and Brego thundered down the hills neck in neck. Elentari urged her horse in the tongue of those beyond the Sea, while Theodred leaned into his horse and murmured into his ear. The white and brown raced against the very wind, until, when they had bounded down the hill, and had reached the plains, Talcalina stumbled, and Brego seized the moment and forged ahead. He ended up winning by a considerate length, but Talcalina had put up a grand fight.  
"That is a fine horse," Theodred complimented, "Not many in Edoras can keep up with Brego, and we devote our lives to them."  
"He's beautiful," she stroked his dark mane.  
"Talcalina reminds me of Snowmane, my father's horse," Theodred compared, his eyes dreamy as he thought of home, "I would say that Talcalina is in better shape than Snowmane though, for Father never rides anymore," at this his eyes grew darker. They trotted back to the woods and Theodred told her tales of his homeland, of his dear cousins, of life on the open plains, of battles and of his eored. She listened, drinking in every word and letting her imagination run. She in turn, told him of life within the walls of Minas Tirith, and of her brothers, though she was careful when she spoke of Faramir.  
She spent most of the days with Theodred, which utterly confused Faramir, for she addressed him courteously, yet ceremoniously in public, and they never really saw each other privately. Faramir suspected that she was avoiding him for a purpose, but did not want to believe it.  
Yet he was right. She avoided him for a reason, quite against her own will, yet she forced herself to. She knew, as everyone did, except Faramir for he refused to accept it, that she would marry Theodred, whether she willed it or not, and she would leave Minas Tirith, leave Gondor, and dwell in Rohan. She would probably seldom see Gondor, if ever again, which meant she would almost never see Faramir again. With an inevitable farewell looming, she wanted to make it as painless as possible, though she knew it would be impossible.  
"Do you love Minas Tirith?" Theodred asked her.  
She thought about it for a moment, sighing, "It is home."  
"Would you make your home elsewhere?" Theodred asked.  
"I would miss those I love," Elentari answered, thinking of Faramir, "But yes."  
"And those are?"  
"My father, Denethor, Boromir," she said, knowing he was watching her closely, looking for a sign, "and Faramir."  
She looked so calm when she spoke of him, yet Theodred could not dismiss Faramir as merely being her brother, no matter what she said.  
"Where would you make your home?" Theodred asked.  
She sighed and had a mind to answer, where Faramir is, but bit her tongue back, knowing she could not say so, "By the Sea."  
"What say you of the grassy plains of Rohan?" he asked, carefully watching her expression.  
"They are free," her eyes dreamy, and she meant it. She was tired, weary of the confines of Minas Tirith. He nodded in acknowledgement.  
As they entered the Citadel, he kept his eyes fixed on hers. Who did she look to first? Faramir was standing to the side, Boromir with his father. Ever since the incident, Theodred had tested her, watching her. However, Elentari kept her eyes lowered as she entered the Citadel, not raising them until Denethor called her to be seated. She instinctly moved for her usual seat, across from Boromir, and as she placed a hand upon it, she touched something that sent tingles up her spine.  
"Oh, my apologies," Faramir murmured, moving away from the seat. Both Denethor and Theodred narrowed their eyes, noting the longing in Faramir's eyes, and the way Elentari's hand trembled when he touched her, though her stare was blank. As they devoured their mid-day meal, Faramir's eyes lingered upon her face, though she refused to meet his, as she knew that it was not just he that was watching her.  
After regarding her and testing her for days, Theodred finally decided to trust her word, that Faramir was merely her brother, nothing else. It was after a meal, when Denethor cleared his throat, and said, "Prince Theodred came to me this morning, and asked me a question, that which I had no answer for him, but told him to proclaim. So, Theodred."  
At this, Theodred rose, and knelt by Elentari's feet. She swallowed and tensed, knowing what was coming, "For the last month, I have enjoyed the welcome of your home, and the pleasure of your company, my Lady. Now I wish to show you the freedom of my home, as my bride. Would you have me, my Lady?"  
Elentari felt the words weigh down upon her, and she struggled to find voice to answer it. Out of the corner of her eye, as she dared not look directly at him, she saw Faramir with a look of apprehension and trepidation upon his face, gazing at her fearfully.  
Theodred was also looking at her, expectantly and with a hint of a smile behind his fair features, and she answered, "It would be a delight, for my part, yet I would like more time to consider this, my Lord, if you would grant it, for this is a big decision affecting many."  
Theodred smiled and said, "Of course, my Lady. I will await your decision." He bowed and left.  
Before the great doors of the Citadel even came to a complete close, the argument arose.  
"Elentari! Are you really going to marry him?" Boromir barked. She did not answer him, but asked Denethor, looking him straight in the eye, "You blessed the union?" Faramir began to clamor, but Elentari silenced him, "Do not involve yourself Faramir! This concerns you not!" Faramir looked at her, pain streaking through his heart. She did not want him to become involved, for she knew that Denethor would be even more set in his ways if Faramir were to intervene.  
"I have always approved of this union," Denethor said steadily.  
"Father, I do not love him," she said, exasperation coloring her voice.  
"This is a wonderful match. It is better than most maidens could ever hope for," Denethor said, just as exasperated as she, "Why do you not accept?"  
"I do not wish to marry someone I do not love!" she almost screamed.  
"You are a child, Elentari! You know naught of what love is!" Denethor roared.  
She was silent for a moment, but then raised her proud head, and said in a deadly voice, "If I do not know love, I most certainly do know hatred. I know I hate this match. I know that I hate this city. I know that I hate that you are using me to obtain an alliance!"  
"Dare you speak to me in that way!" Denethor erupted, to his feet at once, "I gave you ample opportunity to reject this match, yet you said nothing! Now, when it is too late, when your groom has come to the doorstep, you balk! You will marry Theodred!"  
Elentari had tears in her eyes when Boromir interceded, "Father, it is her marriage, she should decide."  
"And I am her father," Denethor barked. By now, Elentari was trembling as Faramir stood behind her, touching her arm to show her support. Feeling him there, she was grateful, and she leaned back into him, his body supporting hers.  
Denethor was disgusted, "Is this where would you have your love take you? To be a mistress to your brother?"  
"She is not my mistress," Faramir could not hold back any longer.  
"Ha," his was a dry laugh, "What would you have her be? You cannot wed her."  
"I will not wed then," Faramir said.  
"Do not sicken me with your childish folly," Denethor was revolted, "You two shall shame Gondor forever."  
Faramir was about to retaliate when she pressed a finger to his lips, "Father. If you would have me wed Theodred, you would deliver to him only my body. My spirit lies elsewhere."  
"That would be enough for him," Denethor said. After seeing the macabre look upon her face, he sighed and softened a bit, "Listen to me Elentari. You are my only daughter, and I promised both Finduilas and Ariethel that I would take care of you. This is the best match for you." Hearing no response from her, he continued, "Would I hurt you, meliel?" Denethor asked. meliel-dearest daughter  
When she looked at him, her gaze was that of one who had journeyed to Mandos, "Sometimes it is those who love us that hurt us the most," gazing back to Faramir at these words. With this, she left the room, leaving Denethor fuming. Faramir made to follow her, but Denethor barked, "Where are you off to? To make love to your mistress?" Faramir shot him a look of pure loathing before exiting.  
"Isilmë!" he called. She stopped running at the end of the hall, right before the room Denethor had shared with Finduilas in days long past. He approached her and she threw herself into his welcoming arms and sobbed as he stroked her dark hair.  
When she regained herself, she shook her head, "Faramir, it's over."  
"What is?" he asked.  
"Do you think that I shall not marry Theodred? It is all a plan. Everything has gone where it should be, every piece fallen into place, it was planned out. They call it my life, yet I hold not the strings to control it." At this, she sighed, tears brimming; she raised her voice in lament:  
I was a fool to believe  
A fool wrapped up in a dream  
It ends today  
It all ends—today  
Today is the day when dreaming ends  
  
"I love you Faramir," she whispered, tears soaking his shirt, "But that is not enough. They will tear us apart."  
"We will not let them," Faramir's voice was hopeful.  
She smiled wistfully through her tears, "You are so naïve Faramir."  
"Mother said that," Faramir said, "When I was five."  
"You haven't changed," her smile was poignant, "I miss her, though I do not remember her as well as I wished."  
"I wish she were here," he said longingly, "She would aid us."  
"Yet she is not Faramir," Elentari whispered, "We cannot wish for what cannot be."  
"That was her room," he pointed straight.  
"I have not been there since her passing," she shivered.  
"I have seen Father frequent it, staying there for hours at a time."  
"He misses her," she said simply.  
"If he can miss anyone."  
Elentari sighed and shook her head, "I must go Faramir. Maybe tomorrow morn I shall awaken and discover this has all been a bad dream."  
  
Yet when she awoke, it was not the morn. Lady Varda's stars were still up, shining as brightly as ever. Yet it was not that which had awoken her. She went to her window and looked upon the Tower, at the secret room near the summit. She saw a pale light that gleamed and flickered from the narrow windows for a while, and as she stood transfixed, wondering what it was, it flashed and went out.  
Not many hours later, when rosy dawn had brought light to the world, when she saw Denethor, she wondered what that light had been, for the Steward alone held the keys to the deeps of the Tower. The Steward buried his head in his hands, as if suffering from a heavy headache, and the lines etched upon his face seemed heavier and clearer. He frowned and glared at everyone who did not do his will. She had seen him like this before, but had dismissed it as a passing pain, and indeed, Denethor usually recovered by the evening. But now, she could not help but think that there was something deeper and more sinister than a fleeting ailment.  
"Elentari!" he barked.  
"Yes Father," was the prompt response.  
"Prince Theodred is expecting an answer," he said, "Do you have one ready?"  
"An answer you would approve, my Lord or just an answer?"  
Denethor scowled and said in a deadly whisper, "You know very well which answer you should have ready."  
"My Lord," she was ready to test his temper, "Why do you ask me for an answer when you already have one prepared for me?"  
"I will not tolerate such insolence from you foolish girl!" Denethor exploded, his roar echoing through the cold halls. He was at his feet, towering over the girl.  
Elentari would not relent. "Nay, it is not insolence, my Lord. I am merely questioning what concerns me."  
Denethor was not in the mood for negotiation nor anything that did not go along with his will.  
"Elentari!" he silenced her, "You know what is expected of you. I will leave this to you. When Theodred arrives for the mid-day meal shortly, you will be requested to answer his proposal, and you will answer it correctly."  
She blinked back tears as Denethor went on with his duties. When Theodred inevitably arrived, she put on a welcoming, cheerful face, and greeted him warmly. When Denethor signaled for attention, she raised her proud head once more, bit back her tears, and said in a perfectly controlled voice, "My Lord. Yesterday at this time, you asked me a question," if she didn't look at Faramir, she would not cry, "And today, I would like to give you an answer."  
"Yes, my Lady?"  
She withheld a sigh and glanced at Boromir, who looked at her sorrowfully, though he offered her a weak smile. She dared not let her eyes move any more left of Boromir, for his younger brother was seated there, a look of despair marring his fine features, "It would be my honor to, to, to accept the kind proposal you offered me yesterday." How could she do this?  
Theodred burst into a radiant grin, which made Elentari regretful and joyous at the same time. His enthusiasm was infectious, though her heart rued her words. Faramir had left the room, slamming the door behind him, which caused a line of frown to move across Theodred's face, but quickly transformed into a smile when he looked upon his betrothed.  
"Good," Denethor said, "Now that that is settled, we must discuss the details of the wedding."  
Elentari squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe this was all a dream. It had to be one of her horrid dreams that seemed so real. When she opened her eyes, she would see her bedroom. Yet when she did open them, Denethor was there, displaying what she saw as a leer.  
"I would like to hold the actual ceremony in Edoras, as is tradition, but if you wish to hold another here in Minas Tirith, I would be most happy to help arrange it."  
"I shall need time to prepare her dowry, of which I have already spoken to you," Denethor said, and Elentari wondered what Denethor could spare in his precious treasure hordes for her, "And I feel that my people would want to witness the marriage of their Lady, or at least, a betrothal ceremony."  
Right when Elentari felt that she would burst from frustration caused by the two of them discussing HER wedding like she wasn't even there, Theodred addressed her, "What do you think of the matter, my Lady?"  
She flashed him a grateful smile and said, "If I must leave my people, then I would most like the actual ceremony to be in Rohan. As for a betrothal ceremony, I see no reason why we cannot have one here in Minas Tirith also, just to officiate the matter, so the people do not go wild with gossip and burn with curiousity."  
Theodred nodded, and Denethor announced, "Then it is settled. Prince Theodred, I trust that you will provide the wedding ceremony and preparations in Rohan. Meanwhile, I shall order preparations made for our little feast. How about this? A betrothal ceremony and departure feast. You two shall be officially betrothed and then you shall depart for Rohan." She played the part so well, as if it were genuine, that she really was eager for her marriage. It worried him, as much as this was going his way, for the Steward could only guess what lie behind that serene façade. Theodred nodded in assent and Denethor said, "Elentari, you may withdraw."  
She nodded and left.  
Theodred stood in thought for a moment and then, carefully selecting his words, said, "My Lord. I do not wish to bind a woman who does not love me."  
"Do not worry, my dear prince, she does," Denethor lied, hiding his insecurity behind a smile.  
"If you are sure of it," Theodred murmured. He then bowed and said, "I shall now deliver the news to my men and begin the preparations. Thank you, my Lord."  
  
Between the Great Hall and the living quarters of the Citadel, there is a long hallway, with many rooms, nooks, and crannies between. As soon as Elentari left the Great Hall, Boromir and Faramir sprung on her.  
"What was that?" Boromir asked fiercely.  
"You said you wouldn't," Faramir added.  
Her gaze was blank, and she stood there, expressionless, pale-faced, listening to Boromir and Faramir throw out bewildered questions and resentful remarks. Finally, noticing her aloofness, they both fell silent and waited for her to speak.  
She gazed at them both for a long moment, and then moved to Faramir, beheld him sorrowfully, and then kissed his cheek chastely, "I have done my duty." With that, she was gone. 


	20. Mementos

A/N: Short chapter! The first of two transitioning chapters. This one is for Faramir, and the other for Elentari and those in the White City. Reviews are ALWAYS welcome! I am in need of songs right now, so if anyone knows of any songs that they find suitable to the story, from anyone's perspective, even Denethor, if you shall, please send them to me. My email is in my profile. If you don't have the lyrics, please tell me the song name and artist and I'll find it! Thanks! Review!!!  
  
Jazmin: Of course I know Theodred is fated to die. Ironic thing is, so is Elentari. Wait and you shall see!  
  
Thanks to all the reviewers! Keep on reading! It's almost over!  
  
Chapter 20: Momentos  
  
Before the day that decided the tragic fates of many was even over, Denethor had issued a command to his younger son, sending him away to Ithilien on an "important mission" that lasted from the next morning to the night before the scheduled betrothal ceremony, leaving no time for Faramir to spend with his departing sister.  
Faramir received the order icily, well knowing how this sudden mission that required no one but him was suddenly revealed. He was not to have any opportunity to even talk to Elentari, for Denethor feared that he would convince her otherwise, or that Theodred would witness another unfortunate event, or merely his presence would bear down upon her fragile emotions.  
As he rode out the next morning, with his men, some onlookers, mostly women lined the streets. Out of all the faces, Faramir saw naught the one he wished most for.  
Yet as the guards of the gate were busy loosening the lock of the gate, as Faramir waited by the great statue of the horse and the rider, that marked the entrance of the great city of Minas Tirith, one figure, veiled in black, came up to him. He could not see the face, but the flutter of his heart told him who it was.  
Her footsteps were heavy, yet she moved quickly, as if fearing discovery, and indeed, the Steward looked down from his Tower from high above, six levels up. She came up to him, without raising her hooded head, and pressed a scroll into his hand, and whispered, "May Illuvatar watch over you." She pressed his hand to her lips and quickly tried to move away, but he hung on to her arm. She closed her eyes slowly, distraught as she did not want to face him. He swung off Cirion, his horse. She should not have come. She feared this would happen. Yet she could not let him go without a farewell and a blessing, without him knowing that she did care, she did love him. Still, he held on to her arm, and as his feet touched the ground steadily, he pulled her to him, so that she would face him, and with a finger, gently raised her chin so she would meet his tender blue eyes. She tried to look away, but he held on to her. He could see the waves of Ulmo swimming in her sea-grey eyes as she struggled to hold back tears.  
"I will not speak harsh words to you, for I know it is to no avail," he whispered, gazing at her melancholy face.  
"I deserve them," a murmur barely audible.  
"You do not," Faramir shook his head, "It was not you who forced this fate."  
She lowered her head again, sniffling to stifle her tears, "I'm sorry."  
"You have naught to be sorry for," Faramir said, brushing away her tears.  
She smiled ruefully, looking at him as she shook her head, "Nay, too much, melda." my love  
"I shall miss you," Faramir murmured, still brushing his fingers against her cheek. He did not care that half the City could be watching now, including his beloved's betrothed. In fact, he wanted Theodred to see. Then he remembered the scroll she had pressed into his hand. He moved to open it, but she stayed his hand, "No. Wait till the City is out of sight."  
He nodded, though reluctantly, and pressed her hand to his lips.  
"My Lord Faramir!" one of the guards called, as his men were all waiting, with the Gate of the City standing open.  
"Go," she ushered. He kissed her hand one last time, though he longed to pull her to him and kiss her passionately. As he led his men out, she bounded up to the wall where she watched him ride beyond Osgiliath, and out of her sight, but not her mind and heart.  
  
She had come out to see him off, to show him that she still loved him. Once he was a fair distance from Minas Tirith, he reached for the scroll, but no. She had said once the City was out of sight. He would wait until they passed Osgiliath. He looked back, straining his eyes to see her still standing at the Tower, gazing out. Less than a month later, the White City would never look upon her again. The horses and plains would steal her away from the stone and craft. Yet she never loved the stone; she hated Minas Tirith. She loves the Sea, yet the grassy plains of Rohan were even farther from the rippling foam than Gondor was. He hated the horsemen of the North, because of their prince, stealing his love away from him right in front of him, yet he was helpless to stop it. Yet as much as he hated Theodred, nothing could rival the contempt he felt for his father. Denethor had frustrated him, confused him, and utterly infuriated him throughout the years, but he had never loathed his father, trying to understand why his father felt like that to him. There must be a reason. There must be something wrong with him. Yet now, he hated him in every essence of his being. His core was white-hot, wanting to burn into Denethor, to cause him as much pain as he was to him.  
They reached Osgiliath, gathering reinforcements there. While the men loaded supplies, Faramir carefully took out the scroll, and tenderly unraveled it. The first thing he saw sent a sudden yet pleasant shock through his spine. It was a portrait, done many years ago, of Finduilas with her three children. Boromir and Faramir stood on either side of her, while the young Elentari sat in her lap. They looked so content, so happy, untouched by the sorrows of the world. Looking at the young girl he remembered so well, he could almost see the light in her eyes. Then his eyes moved up, to the lovely face of his beloved mother. A wave of nostalgia washed over him. How peaceful, how blissful they were back then, when Finduilas was still there to embrace them, when Denethor was not as cold and estranged, when Boromir was home, and when no one came to ask for Elentari's hand. He then turned to the other manuscript, and saw the familiar writing upon it. The minute, elegant lettering made anything her delicate hand wrote look like saved relics from Numenor. He closed his eyes and remembered the days they had spent in the library, especially when the rain pattered upon the windowpanes, immersing themselves in ancient lore and she would practice her elegant calligraphy. He looked down and read the beautiful script. It was the tale of Nimrodel and Amroth and the song she had sung of them the night he named her Isilmë—moonlight. At the bottom she written:

The mountains and the sea separated them, yet their love went beyond the circles of this world. Ered Nimrais stands between the grassy plains and our stone city, yet even then, my heart shall be with you, and the wind shall carry my song to you.  
  
He smiled, fingering the delicate paper that gave off the familiar scent of lilac and the sea that he remembered in her hair. Tucking it into the inside pocket of his tunic, another item brushed by his fingers, sending tingles up his spine. He fingered the silver chain, pulled it out, and gazed at the necklace. She had gifted it to him years ago, when he had first joined the Rangers and would not be home for months. The crystal gem swayed in the soft billowing wind, the rim of gold encircling it shimmering in the afternoon sun. His mother had gifted this to Aunt Ariethel many years ago, and Isilmë had given it to him. Though he knew it by heart, he read the Elvish inscription upon it once more. The prayer. The prayer for Lady Varda and Lord Ulmo to guide the departing Firstborn with her stars across the wide expanse of the Sea to dwell evermore away from Middle- Earth, in the light of Aman.  
He himself prayed. He called upon Eru Illuvatar himself to wake him from this dream, this dream that threatened to overpower him. Yet as much as he willed it, Faramir knew that his prayer would not be heeded.


	21. Rise and Fall

A/N: The second transitioning chapter. Kind of an odd chapter, as it didn't turn out the way I had planned, but I just led my fingers lead me on, so I do like it. Reviews, especially those containing songs, are ALWAYS welcome! If you know of any that would fit the story, please tell me! I have all of Enya and Josh Groban's songs, if you think of those! Thanks! Review!!!  
  
Thanks to all the reviewers! Keep on reading! It's almost over!  
  
Chapter 21: Rise and Fall  
  
Along with heralds announcing the news, Denethor had granted his daughter pemission to journey to Dol Amroth to visit for a fortnight. Her lifeless eyes and macabre complexion had worn upon him, for as harsh and aloof Denethor could be, he still loved his children. However, he had not allowed Boromir to go along with her, for as much as he trusted his elder son, he still held insecurities about Boromir's opinion on the upcoming marriage. He would not chance Boromir talking her out of it. Theodred had understood when she wished to journey alone, and said that he had plans and preparations to be made. He had sent messengers back to Edoras to prepare his people for his return with a Gondorian bride.  
As her company rode through Ithilien, it both comforted and tormented her that Faramir was somewhere in these woods. Almost every part of her wanted to flee with Talcalina into the woods, to find him, to fly to him and feel his arms around her. To hear him tell her that everything was going to be fine, that it wasn't real, but she couldn't. She rode on.  
Entering Dol Amroth, the fragrance of the groves and the salt of the sea set her heart more at ease than it had been in these past few months. Imrahil welcomed her and Araniel, looking a bit older, yet still naïve, playful and lively. Hearing the news, Imrahil looked at his young kinswoman sternly, and taking in her ashen face and lightless eyes, frowned.  
"Welcome back to Amroth," he greeted, his face worried.  
"It is good to be back," she replied, "I have missed it so much. I had almost forgotten how beautiful it is here."  
"Yes," Imrahil said, "Yet Rohan will be even farther than Minas Tirith is from here."  
She closed her eyes sorrowfully at this, and failed to stifle an audible sigh. At this, Imrahil nodded to himself, as her expression had confirmed what he suspected.  
"Come, let us refresh ourselves and you shall tell me all about the recent events in Minas Tirith," Imrahil led her inside. Once they were seated, he broached the delicate subject, "What of Faramir?" for he had seen the love between them, though he had spent little time with them in Minas Tirith, and he had also noticed her eyes when she spoke of him, though sometimes with a guarded tone.  
"He is Ithilien," she replied.  
"Come now Elentari, you know of what I speak. What of Faramir?"  
She sighed and said, "He tells me not directly what he feels towards the match, and yet it is obvious he does not condone it. Father sent him to Ithilien the day after the proposal, so that he may not convince me otherwise."  
Imrahil scoffed, his smile a dry one, "So like Denethor."  
There was a long pause and by her silent fiddling of her gloves and darting eyes, Imrahil could sense that she was uncomfortable and wished to speak no more of the matter.  
"What do you wish to do this visit?"  
"To bid farewell to all that is lovely here," she murmured resentfully, "To look upon the Sea, one last time."  
Imrahil reassured her that as bride of the Prince of Rohan, she would be able to visit again, but somehow, Elentari knew that she would not return. Imrahil left her after refreshing, as she requested to visit the Sea alone, though promising Araniel they would talk later.  
  
She walked barefoot on the sand, the rough grains smoothing her feet. Her eyes were transfixed on the lilting of the waves. She walked to the very edge of where the golden grains meet the white foam and sat down, enraveling herself in the coming of each wave. And so she sat, watching the long hair of Lady Uinen in the green waves, letting the spray wash over her, and soaking her long dress. She felt at peace, despite turbulent times, peace that she had felt only once before; when she had been submerged underwater here and had heard Lady Uinen's call to her. She did not know if it was real or not, but she remembered that voice.  
Rise and fall. Come and go. The tides, the waves. They rose, came closer to her, and then fell, backing away. Such is life. People are born, rise to their prime, and fall, to disease, old age, cruel steel. Spring comes, all is renewed, leaves pass into summer, at the height of their magnificence, then transform their colors, into the dying beauty of autumn, the nostalgic reminscense of a better time, and finally, winter claims all to its icy splendor. If everything rises and falls, even things of the Quendi, then what of love? Does it too, rise and fall? She thought of her childhood, when all was simple and lovely, where the first seeds of her and Faramir's love were planted in Finduilas's garden. A smile creased her lips as the cool water splashed upon her and a gull landed near her. Swordplay, archery, the library; she thought of all their tickling fights, their songs, the way her skin tingled when his lips moved over her, his passionate kiss, the way his fingers felt through her hair, the way he left her just as she was wanting more. Did that fall also? Would she lose him? She knew that ultimately, she would lose him. Either to the plains of Rohan, to the call of the Sea, the cruel blade of an Orc, or the slow decay of time, they would be separated.  
She could only hope that it was not too soon, but the way things were preceding; she would rarely ever see Faramir again. She could sit here forever, letting the waves wash over her, the golden sand beneath her feet, forgetting all pain and sorrow of her young life, and even when she thought of it, there was neither searing pain nor melancholy tears. She wanted to let the waves engulf her, to take her with them to the mysterious yet wonderful world below. Every part of her being wanted to throw herself into that wide expanse, and dwell forevermore in the company of Lady Uinen and hear Lord Ulmo's trumpets. Yet she held herself back, insisting that her part on this earth was not done yet, though she felt that it was all a lie.  
  
Somehow, with the gulls crying their perilous call, Anar baking her wet skin, Isilmë felt herself drift away in peaceful slumber.  
  
A grey ship lay in anchor in the harbor beyond the white towers, where none save the Firstborn could venture. The gulls were crying perilously, as if hastening those who were ready to board. Some were eager, some were not, yet all had tears in their eyes; tears of parting, tears of sorrow, tears of a love left behind, tears for an earth they must forsake.  
As the ship pulled from the grey harbor, rain began to fall, as if all of Endor was mourning the loss of such a fair folk as will never be seen again. The Elves on dock waved farewell, tears streaming, though there was not a soul standing on the shore, save the bending trees, swaying in the wind, saluting sorrowfully the loss of their beloved friends. Soon, the Eastern shore faded from view, even from that of the keen archers.  
They felt the wind streak through their light hair, sweeping it across their fair features, and their hearts grew lighter and lighter. The light, light that grew brighter and brighter with each passing moment, soon flashed, and then their eyes grew wide, both adjusting to the light, and admiring the transcendent beauty. All had turned to silver glass and the light on the water shone ever brightly, like Varda's stars and the Silmaril bound to Earendil's prow. They strained their eyes even further, and then they saw it, white shores and beyond: a far green country under a swift sunrise.  
  
Elentari felt herself shaken. She jerked back to reality, just as she was about to leave the ship and discover the bliss of Valinor. She was nuzzled once more, and grunted, and peeked open one of her eyes to see Talcalina above her, thrusting her mane. She groaned, finding herself still in the water. As she mounted her horse, she thought to herself, "If I can feel so content in the Sea, what would I feel in Valinor?" Yet somehow, she felt that she would be more at peace beneath the waters of the Sea, than in the towers of the Blessed Realm.  
As Talcalina started to trot, Isilmë looked back to the gulls flocking on the shore, and murmured, "Namarië maiwë. Namarië lisse airë, namarië."  
  
Farewell gulls. Farewell sweet Sea. Farewell  
  
A/N: I've always felt that the Elven departure from Middle-Earth would be both relieving and yet painful at the same time. I have no idea why I wrote that as a dream, which was not what I originally intended, but I've just always wanted to write one of those. Next chapter will have more action and less reflection! 


	22. Decisions

A/N: Okay I know I said only 2 transitioning chapters, but this is the third. This time, you can hold me to the promise that we shall return to the action! Very odd chapter, wasn't planned, just came out this way. Faramir's side is a bit awkward, and I might want to change it. Thanks! Review  
  
Susan: Thanks for the quote. I finally used it, and I plan to use some of those lyrics.  
  
UVC3z: Hope I got the name right. Thanks for the lyrics! I know they'll come into use sometime soon! Thanks for reading!  
  
Chapter 22: Decisions  
  
Above the bustle of Minas Tirith, one could barely hear over the gossip and preparations for the Star Maiden's wedding to the Horseman of the North. Elentari had returned, returned to the prison of stone until she would be carted off to Rohan like a prize horse.  
Maids brought her designs and fabrics for her betrothal gown, and lists of supplies and preparations being made for her approval. Denethor mainly selected everything, and then passed it by her for approval. She glanced at everything with an uninterested eye, as if it were that of some unknown woman of the City's wedding, instead of her own. The only thing she specified was the color of the gown, which she wished to be black, but Denethor had expressively denied, as he pompously declared, "Marriage is a time of rejoicing, not of mourning." At this she had thrown him a look so vehement that even the Steward decided to be silent.  
Theodred visited her every day, and they usually spent the time between the mid-day meal and tea together. He offered her little gifts, some from his homeland, some he had found in Gondor, and told her many things. She enjoyed his company, to an extent, and he was a charming man, a good man. She knew that she should be grateful for such a marvelous match, yet every part of her being rued it. He was a good man, and would make an excellent, devoted husband--if her heart did not belong to another.  
As the fateful day approached, she was heard pacing in her room, biting her nails, and even, it was rumored, that when one maid brought in a certain flower design, she clutched it, screamed frustratingly, and tore it into several pieces. The maid quickly cleaned and made her way out to spread the news, but many did not believe that the Lady could lose her renowned composure.  
The only comfort she could find, was in Boromir, who came to her many times a day, when Theodred was not there, and rode with her, had swordfights, and even paid a few visits to the dreaded library. She smiled and was grateful, yet nothing could relight the once shining radiance of her eyes. He begged, pleaded, and would do anything to remind her of old times, when they shared happiness to no avail.  
In truth, Boromir was worried and angry for her. Though the servants did not notice, she was not eating, and her wan face gave off an unearthly glow. She covered it with the once-despised rouge and powder when Theodred came along every day, but Boromir knew that his sister was growing weaker by the day. One afternoon he had fought her, only in play, yet when he had pinned her down, she could not gain her feet, which was surprising, and when he had relented and let her up, her frail arm could barely grasp the sword evenly. Part of him knew he should do something about it, tell Father or Theodred even, yet another thought stopped him. Denethor would have his head for doing anything discouraging the marriage, and he knew better than to instigate the wrath of the Steward.  
  
One night, when Tilion had risen after his long daytime slumber, Boromir had come to check on his sister, and bid her a good night, but found her not in her room. He looked around for her, but saw no sign. He treaded through the Citadel, but when he was passing through one of the upper hallways of the Tower, a shadowy voice resonated in his ears, "Isn't it amazing how one can look up, and from any where on this earth, see the exact same stars shining down?" Though the voice was but a mere whisper, Boromir jumped, "I didn't mean to give you a fright."  
Boromir felt his neck, slowing his breathing and his pulse. He did not know why she had scared him so, but the starlight from the window gave her skin an ethereal look that he did not like. She was pale, too pale, the color of the first snow, without a touch of other color. His stomach dropped when realization kicked in that it was not the starlight that gave her skin that color, it was what she had become—a wraith.  
"Why are you here?" he questioned.  
She had turned back to the window, "It's the best view from here. Do you think that in Rohan the stars will be just as clear?"  
"I do not see why not," a sudden wave of regret and loss washing over him as he realized that she would not be here in a week or so, "Elbereth created the stars for all to enjoy, if they wish to."  
"Yet they say they look more beautiful to the Elves," she murmured, "I have often dreamt of watching the stars while lying in an Elven forest, with nothing between me and the sky except the air."  
Why was she telling him this? Boromir did not know what to say, but forced out words that sounded hollow and meaningless, "We all have our share of dreams." If only Faramir were here. Faramir would know exactly what to say to her, and even if he had no words, just feeling his embrace seemed to be enough for her.  
Without warning, she swung open the window, and sat, one leg on each side, on the ledge. Boromir's instinct was to help her, insist that she come down, but the look in her eyes stopped him. She was looking down at the resting City, soon to become a bustle of unrelenting activity within a matter of hours.  
"It's so quiet down there," she murmured, if almost to herself.  
"For now."  
The eerie silence in these halls had always haunted Boromir to an extent, and now, with his sister, a deathly shadow of what she was, sitting by a window, looking longingly downwards.  
"Boromir?" she sounded like a child, "Have you ever wanted to fly?"  
"The birds do it," again he sounded hollow and meaningless. What could he say?  
She smiled, a queer sort of smile, "Yes, the gulls. Above the Sea." Her eyes were fixed on the ground level of Minas Tirith, thousands of feet below. A strong gust blew by, and she teetered for a moment, swaying, and Boromir almost cried out, but she steadied herself.  
"Elentari," he was determined to get her away from that window, "It is late. You will catch your death sitting there. Please, come."  
Hesitation flowing through her every move, but she allowed him to pull her up and away from the great glass ledge, murmuring, "If I could fly, I would fly down to the Sea, not some great stone cage."  
  
That same night, Faramir was sitting at the fire, peeling potatoes, as he and his friend Beregond had "food preparation duties", while all the other men went off gathering wood for a fire, or other occupying tasks.  
Beregond peered concernedly at his friend, as usually, Faramir would joke around and denounce playfully this feminine task of the camp. Tonight however, Faramir was quiet, a shadow over his eyes, and somber. Beregond decided to pry the matter, for he had seen Faramir like this for too long, ever since they last left Minas Tirith.  
"The sparrow sings not of what has befallen him," Beregond started, "Yet those around can see there must be something troubling him."  
Faramir smiled regretfully, though it was a true smile, at how cleverly worded his friend had put the question. Seeing that he spoke no word, Beregond broached again, "Come now Faramir. You used to tell me things."  
He heaved a sigh, and then began, "What is there to tell? I love her, yet cannot even fight for her."  
"Why not, my friend?"  
"She has forbidden me, for she knows she must accept her fate, and Father would behead me."  
"Ah, Faramir of Gondor, since when did you too yield to the Steward's every request?"  
"Yes, but she does not wish me to intervene."  
Beregond scoffed, "Ah Faramir, for all your knowledge, you have yet to understand a woman's mind. She's testing you. She wants you to fight for her, though she knows that end, you probably won't win."  
"Then what is the point of a fight?" Faramir questioned naively, "And it is impossible to understand the mind of a woman."  
"Faramir, she wants you to show her you love her. Faramir, answer me these four questions. In this troubled world, where much is marred by grief, what is sacred?"  
"Much is sacred," Faramir replied.  
"Of what is the spirit made?"  
"Substance," Faramir answered, looking puzzled.  
Beregond shook his head, "Ai Faramir. The body is made of substance; the spirit is made of something else. What is worth living for?"  
"Isilmë," he murmured.  
"Ah, we are making some progress. What is worth dying for?"  
This time Faramir did not even hesitate, "Isilmë."  
Beregond smiled, "The answer to each is the same—only love."  
"Isilmë," he murmured again, thinking of her, trapped in within walls of stone.  
"Yes," Beregond said, "Now if you love her, which you obviously do, then fight for her."  
Faramir nodded, but then another thought struck him, "I am not allowed home until the night before."  
"You have some time. Make use of it," Beregond advised, then left Faramir to his thoughts at the fire. If any avail would come to his struggle, he would give his life to have her, though that would defeat the purpose. She knew, as he did, that fighting would only stiffen Denethor's resolve to marry her to Theodred, and the Horseman was in love with her, even if she did not return his feelings.  
Isilmë, Isilmë, why must you leave me? Will you leave me to spend all my nights alone? Lonely and broken? Who shall teach me the lessons of the sword? Who's lulling voice will soothe me during my troubles? Who shall sneak apples and sugar treats to me during my suffocating numerology lessons? Who in the City would now rival his knowledge of the lore of old? Who would he talk to? Who would be his friend? His love? Where would his heart dwell?  
With her. His heart would dwell with her, wherever she was, his heart would be. He would fight for her, though loss was inevitable. He would fight for their lives, for their memories, for their hearts--for their love. 


	23. Powder

A/N: This is part introspection, part action. I had some great symbolic meaning for the word "powder", but I forgot it halfway through the ending of the chapter. Hopefully I conveyed some symbolism in it. Thanks! Review  
  
Susan: Thanks always for the support and advice you give me.  
  
Chapter 23: Powder  
  
"Here you are," Denethor said, handing her an adorned blue box. Elentari carefully took it, weighing heavy on her frail arms.  
"What is it?"  
"Open it and you shall see."  
Throwing Denethor a puzzled look, she carefully unlatched the case, and what it revealed made her gasp.  
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Denethor asked, smiling at her look of awe. The headpiece shimmered in the cloudy morning sun, as the gems in it were clearly authentic. It was not so much of a tiara, but it was a very intricately crafted ornamentation.  
"It was made by the Noldor in Lothlórien. Galadriel sent it to Dol Amroth, to honor her kin. Finduilas brought it with her and wore it to our wedding," Denethor said, his eyes becoming filmy as he thought of his own beloved, "I know she would want you to have it and would love to see you wear it on your joyous day."  
Joyous was not what she would call it, but she was touched by the sincerity in Denethor's voice. He reached to the case and lifted the ornament, and placed it upon her dark crown. The white gems shimmered even more contrasted to her dark tresses and seemed ordained for her. She glanced at herself in the mirror, not believing that it was her, and imagined dear Finduilas wearing it in this very City, long ago, though she was given to it, not away from it.  
Denethor bored his steely eyes into her lifeless ones, as if trying to read her innermost thoughts.  
"I promise you, Elentari," Denethor said slowly, "That marriage will not be the condemnation you envision it to be."  
Her voice was a mere whisper, and Denethor had to lean in to hear her, "Marriage itself is not a curse. Marriage to the wrong person is to burn in Oroduin."  
Denethor made a sound halfway between a scoff and a sigh, "This is the right marriage for you."  
"Yet I do not see it."  
"You will someday."  
"Some day may never come," there was gravity in her voice that even Denethor could not dismiss. Yet before he could offer a retorting or comforting word, she was gone, floating away like an apparition.  
Boromir watched her go, and felt a sharp pain stab at him. She looked so frail, her face so pallid, a stiff breeze would blow right through her. He glanced at Denethor, now pouring over a thick pile of documents. Should he say something? She was clearly ailing, yet she would say something to him. She would confide in him, wouldn't she? She usually did. Yet she does not tell you nearly as much as she does to Faramir. Faramir! She would talk to him. He would leave it to Faramir, who was returning the next night. A lump rose in his throat, as he remembered, that the day after Faramir's return, would be the departure date for the newly betrothed couple.  
Yet as these thoughts crossed his mind, he heard the trumpets sounding loudly, and felt the familiar opening of the gate seven levels below. Denethor looked at him, equally bewildered, and ran, with his son striding behind him, to the parapet, glancing down. What met their eyes sent shock waves through them both. The familiar brunette steed who made his home beside Talcalina in the royal stables stood in the complex of the lower level. It was only a fleeting moment before the shock wore off of the Steward's features, replaced by anger.  
He stood erect at the gate of the Citadel, waiting for his younger son to appear.  
Yet only a stable boy, handling the reins of Cirion appeared from the midst of the lower levels. When an irate Denethor confronted him, he seemed frightened, and stammered that the Lord Faramir had merely instructed him to take the horse to the stables and see that he is treated properly, and had then disappeared.  
  
Sitting at her bureau, Elentari too, had heard the trumpets, yet clucked disgustedly at it, thinking it to be nothing but another messenger or a group of wearied soldiers. She looked back into her mirror, and saw the ghastly, sunken face that stared lifelessly back at her. Normally, she would have been disgusted at her image, but now, she felt that she did not care. She did not care about what she looked like. She did not care much about anything anymore. She did not care about living.  
Carefully, she unscrewed the little capsule, and warily powdered her face. She scowled at the rouge before her, and felt abhorrence at herself for applying it on. Yet before she could finish the hated application, the door burst open, and before she saw who it was, he had swept her in his arms, making her drop the brush of cosmetics, and pressed his mouth against hers.  
She did not need to see to know who it was, for she felt warmth returning to her icy heart once more. The sun had finally returned after a long winter smothered by the rain clouds and storm, and was thawing, little by little, the obstinate ice that had gathered.  
They parted, only to join again in passion moments later, for they had been apart for long enough. Faramir had pinned her to the bed, still kissing her, when a cold voice shrieked, "That would be the wrong person to do that with, Elentari."  
The look of terror that streaked her already pale face was one that would have pierced even the Dark Lord Morgoth.  
"And you," Denethor addressed coldly, "Aren't you a little early?"  
"My captain gave me leave," Faramir replied curtly, no trace of emotion in his voice.  
"Your captain will soon be on permanent leave himself if he does not learn how to obey strict orders," Denethor glared at his younger son. However, Faramir held his gaze steadily, an amazing feat considering that Denethor's glare was renowned to be second to only that of the Lidless Eye.  
"Elentari!" Denethor could not break his son's will, so he turned to an already fragile one, "You are betrothed to be married in less than two days time. I suggest you not engage in such practices. I will not have an adulteress in my household."  
"Yes Father," was barely audible.  
"You would do good to remember that, both of you," Denethor barked, "Now Elentari. Your betrothed is waiting."  
Head lowered, she followed Denethor away.  
  
His gaze followed her, and lingered even when she had turned the corner out of his sight. He had longed to look upon her fair face for so long, dreaming of it, yet what he saw now filled him not with contentment, but with horror.  
What had happened to her? She was gaunt, frail; he hardly recognized her. He had seen a rough sketch of a bog a bit north, near Mordor, the Dead Marshes, they called it, and she could pass for one of those unfortunate souls, lighting their candles beneath the water.  
He looked down, her bureau held rouge and powder, things that he had dubbed unheard of for Elentari. Other women needed it to cover up themselves, and hurriedly smeared it all over, to add to their wiles and charm, but not her. She had never needed, never wanted such things. The powder had spilled over the exterior, forming a smooth, white surface. He had been gone for longer periods before, and she had never been like this. She was never forced to marry before, was she? Damn Denethor, condemn that man to damnation. Why must he push her to this fate? He slammed his fist on the bureau, causing the bottles to leap. And surely, he was not the only one to notice her condition. It was quite obvious. Did no one care? He slammed his other fist on the dresser, upsetting a bottle. He glanced at it, a look of disgust on his face. Boromir must have noticed, and he does care. Why then? Why had he not said anything? He would be the first to tell Denethor, or had the Steward fallen to such insanity, that he would not even listen to his beloved firstborn? He looked up, seeing his reflection in the mirror. Had she not looked into this glass and seen herself? She would know, better than anyone, what had happened to her. Why did she not stop it?  
Never mind that. He would. He would put an end to this madness. He would, at any cost. She would not suffer. It seared him to think that she had already. He would confront Denethor, fight Theodred, whatever it took to save her. It was not a matter of their love anymore; it was a matter of her life. He moved away, his hands covered with a mist of fine powder--powder that covered her face that hid her from those around her, disguising her frailty, but not from him. Nothing could hide her from him, and he would make it clear to them. 


	24. The Night Before

A/N: After almost 4 short, introspection chapters, here is a longer, more action-filled one. It's almost time!!! I used two songs and many quotes, thanks to Susan, referencing me to www.coolquotescollection.com. Thanks! Please review! I have a feeling this is going to be a controversial chapter, as far as opinions go, and I raised the rating because of it, just in case.  
  
Susan: I did end up going to the site, as above mentioned, and ended up submitting about a dozen quotes, all from LotR. I'm planning on submitting some from "Troy" also. Thanks for being great! I want to read more of Tstruck!!!! I didn't really listen to your advice about this chapter though!

I got the title off the Troy soundtrack. It's track number 5, if anyone cares.  
  
Chapter 24: The Night Before  
  
Faramir stormed towards the Tower of the Steward. How dare Denethor. How dare he. He was still fuming, angrier than he had ever been in his life, when he reached the door of the highest pinnacle. He thumped on the heavy wooden door, and wanted to scream at Denethor to hurry up and open. However, there was only silence, and Faramir waited, with half a mind to barge in there, unannounced and unwelcome. He restrained himself, when he heard a loud thud, the sound of something heavy hitting the ground forcefully.  
No matter how incensed he was at Denethor, it was in Faramir's nature to become concerned and even worried for his father. It was this, concern for some ill occurrence that spurred Faramir to gently creak open the door. Yet what he saw frightened him. Denethor was crouched, on all fours, crawling after a ball, a glass ball, yet it was not that which frightened him. It was what was in the ball. As it rolled towards him, his eyes were fixed, in horror, at the great Eye glaring back. It was fiery, cruel, and unbending, and he could feel the malice and cruelty flowing from it. Yet try as he might, he could not tear his gaze away from it. However, within seconds, Denethor had thrown a dark piece of cloth over it, and leapt on it, clutching it for dear life.  
When he looked up, and saw his younger son, his eyes grew wide, ashen, sweat-covered face livid, the lines on his face hardened, and he said, in a deadly whisper, that Faramir knew all too well, the calm before the storm, "What are you doing here?"  
"I, I," he stammered, "I had come to speak with you, a, about a matter, and, and, I heard a noise, and so I was concerned—  
He did not finish, "Oh, concerned, were you?" Denethor sneered, his face, though angry, was not gaining any color, "Even for your moronic standards, I expect you to have remembered, that no one, not even your brother, is allowed anywhere near this room!" It was the closest thing to a roar that Denethor could muster, for his escapade had proved quite taxing and he was spent.  
"Father," Faramir ignored Denethor's anger, "What, what was that thing?"  
"None of your concern," he snapped, "Just as Elentari is not."  
Even in this condition, it was quite irritating, yet amazing, that Denethor could be so clear-headed, and not forget the ongoings and problems of his country. It was what Ecthelion had declared, when Denethor was just learning his numbers, would make him a great Steward.  
Faramir kept trying to glance over Denethor's slumped shoulders at what that fiery ball was, but Denethor blocked the door firmly, refusing his son entrance or any view of his secretive tower.  
"Did you not hear me? I do not want you anywhere near her. Get away! Get away I tell you! Out!" Denethor shrieked, though not as forcibly or loud as he usually could. With that, he went back into his tower, and slammed the door, in Faramir's face.  
  
Denethor sat back, panting, completely spent from his exertion and then the confrontation with Faramir. What he had seen in this excursion troubled him further. The Dark Lord was amassing scores of armies, armies that would only grow, so that it would overwhelm any Gondorian force that met it. Gondor would fall. He could only hope that it was not in his lifetime, yet he feared it would. The Eye knew him, knew him all too well, and just out of spite would force him to watch his beloved city crumble and fall, his people massacred. His thoughts strayed to his sons; Boromir, so brave, eager and waiting for the challenge that lay ahead of him. Ever since his first days, Denethor could sense the warrior within his elder son, indeed, even in the womb; he tormented his mother, much to Finduilas's dismay. Boromir would fight; he would lead Gondor. He would survive.  
Yet Faramir. The small, gentle boy that would nourish insects instead of squashing them; what would happen to him? The boy could fight, he was skilled with the sword and deadly with arrows, but he had no spirit in it. Most believed him too harsh on his younger son, beginning with Finduilas and spanning to Elentari, who often confronted him about it. He wouldn't be cross with the boy if he would just get his nose out of his books and into the battle. His heart did not lie in his sword or his bow. What use would lore be against the shadow? Denethor shook his head. He felt unusually clear-headed today, though more exhausted than usual. When Finduilas had broken the news of her second pregnancy, he had had his reservations about the matter. He had hoped and prayed that Illuvatar would grant him a daughter, a lovely, charming young lass to sing and dance. Yet the One had seen fit to gift him with another son, a boy. A boy in form, but Denethor felt that Faramir would have been better off as a maid. Elentari had filled his void. She was the little sparrow that lighted up the room with her smile and filled the halls with her song.  
But the little sparrow no longer smiled, no longer sang. Denethor knew, all too well, why, but he was not going to change it. Breaking off the betrothal this close to the wedding would be a direct insult to Rohan, and in these times, any ties were needed. Besides, her and Faramir could not possibly wed, or hold any official relationship. It was practically incest!  
Denethor groaned and reached up to his head, massaging his temples. He could feel the usual headache coming on again, creeping its way through his mind. He was too tired to go down, yet he had to. If she had to marry, he at least could carry on the two nights that were left to her in the city. Groaning, Denethor changed his robes, and headed down.  
  
"It is good to see you, Faramir," Theodred greeted customarily, sitting across from him at the dinner, "I wasn't expecting you so soon."  
"My captain granted me leave a day early," Faramir replied, obviously making a great effort to be courteous. He glanced at Elentari, who was seated beside Theodred. Apparently, the white tablecloth was fascinating, so fascinating that she touched not a trace of her food.  
"Elentari," his voice was gentle, "Will you not eat?"  
She looked up slowly, barely meeting his concerned eyes, "I have not much appetite, my Lord, but I thank you for your concern. May I suggest you take to your own meal, for you must be hungry from your recent excursions in the Wild."  
She was so courteous and so formal. What happened to the Elentari that told him whatever she had on her mind, not caring if it was proper or not? Usually, she would smile at him mischievously, and say, "Go eat yourself, Faramir." Normally, she would shove down the food quicker than anyone at the table.  
Boromir scoffed when she said this, and said, "It seems, my Lady, that you have not found an appetite very much of late."  
She did not reply, but Denethor intervened, steering the conversation away, for he was much too tired, and his head throbbed, threatening to overpower him.  
"All preparations are set for the ceremony," he announced, "I trust you agree Theodred?"  
"Yes, my Lord. Everything is ready."  
"What about you Elentari? Are you prepared?"  
She nodded, her eyes and expression blank.  
The plates were cleared, Elentari's still as full as when the servant last touched it, and Denethor called, "My dear," addressing Elentari, "Will you give us the pleasure as to hear a song? I have not heard your voice often of late, and since Lord Theodred is depriving me of my best musician, I would hear your song before Rohan does."  
"I know naught of what do sing," she said.  
"Oh come now. You know all songs. You create your own songs. Sing anything," there was almost a trace of pleading in the Steward's voice, "Any song you dub worthy."  
"As you wish," she whispered. A viol player offered her her fiddle, but she refused it.  
  
What you never know won't hurt you  
What you never know won't lie  
What you never know won't desert you  
What you never know won't say goodbye  
  
To each person in the room, at least one line of this haunting song meant something. Denethor smiled sarcastically at the second, as he thought of the palantir, locked away in a trunk, and of a few of his advisors, always breathing ill words.  
  
He had come to Gondor looking for a suitable, prospective wife, and he had found one beyond his dreams. Yet even in his dreams, Theodred never imagined that marriage, or even finding a wife, would have so many complications. He gazed at his future wife; she was beautiful, though even he couldn't help but notice that throughout the month that he had been here, she had changed dramatically. Yet beneath her pale face, and sunken eyes, he sensed an inner spirit there, and he was not going to abandon that. Yet he was curious, and highly alarmed, at what was causing her to lose weight significantly, and along with it, her lust for living. He had attributed it to homesickness, as she did not wish to leave Minas Tirith, and the occasional loneliness that she had confided in him. He sensed something between her and Faramir. He could not exactly place it, for it seemed like almost wariness and almost strained relations between the two. They were always so careful, so reserved around each other, too reserved. What you never know won't hurt you, she was right.  
  
His mother had gone when he was young, but not too young. Not as young as Faramir and Elentari, and he, he counted himself fortunate, had memories of her, and could remember her smile, her embrace. Finduilas was gone, now Elentari would too. Boromir felt like the little child again, walking down Silent Street, following his mother's pyre. Why did everyone desert him in the end? Ultimately, he felt alone. Why did they desert him?  
  
What you never know won't say goodbye.  
She had met Faramir's eyes at this. No amount of preparation, of time, could prepare for this. It was the most daunting, and heartbreaking challenge of all. She could say goodbye to Minas Tirith, farewell to Boromir and Denethor, to everything she knew, but to part with Faramir was beyond all imagination, speculation, and she shuddered at the mention.  
What you never know  
What you never, never, never know  
What you never know  
  
What you never know won't hurt you  
What you never know won't lie  
What you never know won't desert you  
What you never know, unless you try  
  
What you never know won't hurt you  
  
Even Denethor was silent as she finished, all lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Elentari jolted everyone back, "I would like to retire now. It has been a long day, and I hope you will excuse me."  
They watched her leave, without a word, and the four men sat in silence, a curious thing, as men never do keep quiet.  
"Father," the quietest man at the table spoke first, "When we last spoke, a few hours ago, I came to speak to you about a matter."  
"What does it concern?" Denethor asked, "Are you sure it would be appropriate in this setting?" He glanced warily at Theodred, who noticed.  
"Boromir will aid me in my case, and I feel that it is necessary, as Theodred is to marry her, that he hear this also," Faramir stated steadily and firmly, much like a captain distributing orders.  
Denethor nodded, though grimly, for he knew that this would probably cause his already throbbing head to burst, "Speak."  
"I have not been home, so I do not know the occurrences here," Faramir began, "But noticed, all of you, the change in Elentari?" Both Theodred and Boromir nodded.  
"Did you see her plate? She does not eat. She is thin; the wind could blow through her. Her dresser holds powder and rouge, items I have never, ever seen anywhere in our hall. Her expression is blank, her eyes lightless. I've been home a whole afternoon, and I have not seen one smile light up her face yet. Usually, she can't keep from smiling. I hear no songs or laughter echoing through the halls."  
Denethor's voice stayed icy, "And what, do you suggest we do? Force feed her?"  
"She is no condition to travel! I daresay she cannot ride, not even to Ithilien, and you wish to travel to Rohan within two days time?" Faramir saw the sneer forming on Denethor's face, and he turned to Theodred, "My Lord. Please do not take this as some desperate ploy to gain some time with a departing sister. It is only the concerns of a brother, a brother who loves her dearly and wishes no harm to come to her."  
Theodred saw the desperate expression on Faramir's face, and was touched, if not by his words, then by his sincerity. "I suppose. We would have to send messengers to Edoras, but we could postpone the arrangements by a week or so."  
There was a thud on Denethor's side of the table; he was holding his head in one hand, the throbbing practically unbearable now, "All the preparations are ready and made. We cannot change now, and we could not possibly tax your messengers again. The betrothal departure ceremony shall be in two days time. Rest assured, Elentari will be in ample shape to travel. Now, if you will excuse me."  
  
Elentari spent the next day walking through Minas Tirith, one level at a time, through the bazaars, children playing, buildings, crowded streets. She had never held any great love for the City, but now, on the eve of her departure, it seemed all the more dear to her.  
The afternoon was a picnic with Theodred, and this time, she did eat a bit, not as much as she would have of old, but he saw to it that she downed a significant amount of food and drink. He regarded her closely and saw how she scanned the countryside lovingly, and every brush of the fragrant grass seemed dear to her.  
"Elentari," he whispered, taking her hands in his. She turned to meet his eyes, "Tell me, truthfully. Think about your answer. Do you wish to marry me?"  
She held her head in contemplation. She did not entirely wish to marry him, nor did she wish to stay in Minas Tirith. She knew that any relationship with Faramir would be impossible, yet love him she still did, more than all on the earth. Moreover, she only wanted to be free, free of all her cares and sorrows of this world. "I wish to be free," she said slowly. She trusted this man before her, one that she must share her life with, "And I feel the plains of Rohan, and your company, may give me that." He had made her feel comfortable, secure, and when she had confided in him, about her loneliness, how she sometimes felt trapped, he had understood her, like none save Faramir had, and even he did not completely comprehend.  
Yet though he was such, he was nothing compared to Faramir. No one could rival him in her eyes, in any respect. She loved him, and no one else.  
"Why have you been like this of late?" he questioned, his blue eyes sincere, "Not eating, your laughter ceasing."  
"I shall miss my home, my family." It was part of the truth, yet not all of it. Weariness had come, threatening to overtake her. The void within tried to engulf her, emptiness filling her heart.  
"They seem unwilling to part with you," Theodred chuckled, "Faramir seems to think I am the Enemy, creeping and stealing what is his."  
A gleam of a smile came through, and Theodred felt rewarded at the display, "He has always been a bit, possessive, you might call it," Elentari laughed quietly. It was a heavenly sound to Theodred's ears, the trickle of water in the midst of a desert, though her words carried more meaning than he knew.  
"Boromir hides it, but I see the pain within his eyes every time our departure is broached," Theodred continued, "Even Lord Denethor shows some sign of regret at some time."  
"I love them," she sounded so naïve, like a child, "Some more than others," she added as a quiet afterthought.  
"I have often heard of the cruelty of a woman's life. Eowyn used to often complain that men did not know how lucky their lives were. She said that while men ride out to valor and adventure, women must stay behind, locked behind cruel, unrelenting bars." As he spoke, Elentari suddenly developed a desire to meet this Eowyn, daughter of Eomund. He went on, "I have witnessed childbirth, so I know that men are fortunate not to have that ordeal. I see now another evil in a woman's life. She must forsake those she loves, for a stranger from a different land, to share her life with him."  
"Yet that is life, and that is how it will go," she added.  
"A wise man of my people once said, only in their dreams can man truly be free. 'Twas always thus and always thus shall be," Theodred said.  
  
It was this that echoed in Elentari's head as she made for bed ere midnight. She brushed her hand on the white walls, stroking them gently. Her last night in this room, her last night in this City, her last night, with Faramir.  
Slowly, she made her way across the hall, and rapped her knuckles gently against his wooden door, one that she had stood before countless times before.  
"You needn't knock, you know that," his voice was sad as it came through the door.  
She closed the door behind her. She opened her mouth to speak, say something, anything, yet found no words. She knew naught of what to say to him, how to apologize for this ill fate, how to confide in him her fears, and how to offer any kind of comfort, to him and to herself, of the coming events that the next dawn would bring.  
Seeing her confusion and sorrow, he wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to lean against him, and tilted his chin so that it rested on her head. She clung onto his encircling arms, drawing heat from him, for she felt none within her. They need no words, for just the presence of one another was enough. She leaned into him, resting her weary head upon his providng shoulder, and he kissed the crown of it.  
Together, they watched as the stars twinkled, sharing their hidden secrets in the dark night sky. They thought of Earendil, sailing through the shoreless skies, behind the light of the Moon. The Moon indeed was waning, shadow eclipsing half of its fair exterior, as if it too, were lamenting the loss of Minas Tirith, of Faramir.  
"I shall not be whole," Faramir murmured, watching the moon.  
Her eyes were fixed upon the heavenly orb, though not at its fullest shape, "Yet Tilion regains his whole with the swift passage of time."  
"But he stays never long that way," Faramir answered. At this he rose his voice and hummed, very quietly, towards the moon, yet it seemed it was to her ear:  
I can't imagine any greater fear  
Than waking up without you here  
And though the Sun would still shine on  
My whole world would all be gone  
  
If I had to run  
If I had to crawl  
If I had to swim a hundred rivers  
Just to climb a thousand walls  
Always know that I will find a way  
To get to where you are  
The highest tower  
The widest valley  
There's no place too far  
  
Lonely months, two stubborn hearts  
Nothing short of Eru above  
Could turn me away from your love  
I need you that much  
There's no place too far  
  
"Promise me," she pressed her lips against his shoulder, "Promise me you won't come after me." He did not answer, so she pressed on, "Father will skin and tan your hide, and it will only make matters with Theodred worse. Promise me Faramir."  
"There are some things I cannot promise, not even to you," he said slowly. She failed to repress an audible sigh, and closed her eyes slowly, tears threatening them. "I will promise not to follow you, but I cannot promise I shall not go mad."  
"Give it time, young one," she said, not quite believing herself, "All things pass in time."  
"You call me young one, but it is you who fails to understand. There are some things time cannot mend; some hurts that go too deep." Hearing no response from her lowered head, but knowing that she was trying desperately to suppress her tears, he continued, "Besides, you are the younger one, though I tend to act like it!"  
He was rewarded by something somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Putting courage that he felt nowhere near in his voice, "Remember when you used to peek into the windows during my numerology lessons?"  
"Yes. Your tutor finally dragged you into a room without windows," she almost giggled, joining his reminiscence.  
"He locked me in, thanks to you," Faramir scowled at the memory, "It felt like a dungeon."  
"I would hate that," she shuddered, and he strengthened his hold around her. "Yet I still snuck in sugar treats to you."  
Faramir grimaced, "That time I did get my hide skinned. He was so angry when he found me nibbling on them and getting crumbs all over the charts."  
She could not help giggling, "I'm sorry, for causing you such pain, and much more."  
His eyes grew serious. "I would endure any pain or hardship, just to have one more night with you."  
"Yet we do not, my love," she whispered regretfully, their lips meeting tenderly.  
Gently, he pushed her down, until she lay beneath him on his bed. One by one, she unbuttoned his shirt until it slid off of his broad shoulders. As he kissed her, moving from her mouth to her neck, she shifted so that he lay next to her.  
Near the bottom of his rib cage, there was a scar that ran across his abdomen. She traced it, first with her finger, and then with her tongue, as a pleasant sensation ran through Faramir.  
Remorsefully, she whispered, "How many scars and wounds shall mar you?" Almost to herself, she murmured, "And I won't be here to treat them."  
As she caressed him, she noticed a familiar object dangling from his neck.  
"You still have it," she breathed, an evidently pleased smile appearing.  
Faramir looked to what she was speaking of, and murmured, "I carry it with me always." He ran his fingers over the silver chain. Hearing her, he joined her in the prayer inscribed upon the golden rim, to Lady Varda and Lord Ulmo, for Elbereth to guide the Elves with her ever-shining stars, and for Ulmo to let them across the wide expanse of the Sea. The encircled crystal gem itself shone as one of Lady Varda's white jewels, embedded in the myriad of the sky.  
"May Elbereth guide you to Rohan," he whispered after they finished.  
"May the Valar watch over you, and keep Gondor strong against the shadow of the East," she replied, "I regret to say, but I am glad to be leaving, for I will not have to see the evils of Sauron day by day, nor breathe the fiery ashes of Mount Doom."  
Faramir made a disgruntled noise, as if he were shocked that anyone would want to leave Minas Tirith for any reason. She continued, "It is a great thing when you can step outside your room, into the air, and not be filled with horror by what you see. It is a great thing that you can breathe without being smothered by the growing pestilence of the East. It is a great thing when your heart is not heavy with the glowering shadow, picturing the Lidless Eye even in your sleep."  
"He will be destroyed," Faramir vowed.  
"Yes, but those matters concern us not," she said gently, "At least not tonight."  
Faramir nodded, and turned his eyes back to her, "Yes. This night belongs to us. Let us make the most of it." He hesitated for a moment, and then coloring, said, "I will not make love to you Isilmë, if you do not wish it. I will not force you, as much as my body burns for you."  
"As I for you," she returned, "But I would deliver to Theodred, since Fate has decreed it so, at least one thing whole, for neither my heart nor my soul he shall have. My body is the most I can give to him, and I would have it unstained for him."  
"As you wish," Faramir agreed, though his heart rued it, and it was evident in his voice.  
And so the forbidden lovers recalled old times, when all was pleasant, exchanged loving words, and finally, sleep sealed their weary eyes, locked in each other's arms, dreading the coming dawn.  
  
A/N: Would really like to hear a review!!! The song Faramir sings is by Westlife, called "No Place Too Far", and the other, "What You Never Know" is by Sarah Brightman. I used many quotes from either the books of LotR or the movie, though some, it was quite accidental. They're just floating around in my mind, and I just write them down. I suppose some may feel that a bit of introspection on Theodred's part here at the end would be nice, but I couldn't find a way of ending the chapter, if I wrote that part, so there might be a tiny chapter in between with Theodred's thoughts. Please tell me if you deem it necessary, or worth it!  
  
As you may have noticed, I try really hard to make Denethor come off as a caring parent, to some degree, and that he cares about what happens to his sons, and he has reason behind treating Faramir the way he does, though no excuse could rectify that. I hope someone realizes that! Thanks again!


	25. It is time

A/N: Ah, tragedy... Well, I haven't said this in a while, so here goes. I don't own anyone, save Isilmë, and even her name was from Tolkien. Faramir is not mine ::sniff:: tear:: though David Wenham will very soon be, though he doesn't know it yet. Both the songs are by Enya, one "Deora ar mo Chroi" and the other "Flora's secret."  
  
Please review!!! I'm going to try to finish this story before I go on vacation, so expect a lot of updates. This way, I can write another story on the plane...  
  
Does anyone have the codes (alt) for the accents, like the ë on Isilmë? I only know the ë and the ó for Lothlórien! If anyone could give me those, it'd be awesome!  
  
Susan: Thanks for reviewing and killing me with all those cliffhangers!  
  
Jazmin: This is from a few chapters ago, but I'm glad you've gotten so involved into the story so that you've cursed at Denethor more than once! Don't worry, I've done that too.  
  
Chapter 25: It is time  
  
The trumpets rang throughout the Citadel, echoing in the damp morning air. Faramir awoke with a start, and discovered he was alone. Groaning, as he tried in vain to block the sunlight from his eyes, he stumbled up from his bed, and saw that the flags had been changed. The customary seven stars and white tree was accompanied by a colorful flag showing a horse. As they swayed in the wind together, a part of the flags entwined together, uniting as one.  
Jerking back to reality, it dawned upon Faramir that this was the day that he had dreaded for months now. How could he have forgotten? Yet in her arms, breathing in her hair, he could forget anything, for all he needed was to hear the gentle pounding of her heart beneath his, and feel her body beside him. He stumbled out of bed, one sheet caught on his foot, and he cursed under his breath trying to get it off. Laying the fabric of the ceremonial robes prepared for him in his hand, he wanted to tear the silken tunic apart, shredding it, tearing it, anything to prove to him that this was not happening; she was not leaving him.  
When he had finished dressing, donning a cloak, he opened his door slowly, not wanting to leave the haven of his room, entering cruel reality. The door across the hall was sealed shut, though he could hear and sense the bustle and hurried excitement flowing from behind the oak. A maid hastily opened the door, obviously out to fetch something for the Lady. From the few seconds the door had been ajar, Faramir could make out Elentari seated at her bureau, scores of maids fawning over her, some fussing with her hair, ornamenting it, and others crouched down, fixing her dress.  
He stood, his face merely inches from her door, willing himself not to knock on it, when a hand reached out, and grabbed him. He gasped, taken aback by the sudden assault, but when he was saw it was Boromir, he let out a relieved sigh, though his heart was still tense and apprehensive.  
"I came to see if you had finally awoken," Boromir said. He seemed light-hearted enough, if one did not look at his eyes, which were laden with remorse. "Father is busy fussing over preparations, and both the bride and groom have been up for hours, readying themselves."  
"I trust you will not find it necessary to use those terms of reference," Faramir snapped.  
Boromir was taken aback, but nodded understandingly, "I know how it feels, little brother, and I am not nearly as close to her as you."  
"Do you?" Faramir's eyes were filled with tears. Seeing his brother's state, Boromir embraced him, soothing him as he did when Faramir was a mere child, every bit as vulnerable as this man that stood before him now.  
Once Faramir had dried his tears and regained his composure, for the time, Boromir beckoned gently, "Come. Let us go to the Great Hall. We are expected there."  
  
He had one of his men on either side of him, fierce and deadly in battle, now tending to their Lord's attire. That notion caused Theodred to chuckle, one of the few amusements of the morning. His stomach turned more than it did before any battle, even more than it did the one time Eowyn had cooked him lunch on his last birthday. Eomer had accused her of collaborating with the Orcs and purposely trying to waylay the Prince of Rohan when Theodred had been confined to his bed for serious bouts of nausea and vomiting. Seeing the shameful tears in his cousin's eyes, tears that she never wanted to show, he had promptly silenced Eomer, and comforted the young girl, and all the while making her promise, as a birthday present to him, never to cook him lunch again. She had giggled through her tears, and agreed, in turn making him promise never to sing again.  
He tugged anxiously at the collar of his robe, causing Halas, who was attending him, to chuckle, and murmur, "The effect women have on us."  
"My Lord, you have not been this nervous since we outnumbered and ambushed in the Gladden Fields, and even then, you sweated from the heat of the battle, not anxiety," the other man said in between a laugh.  
"A sword protects you from an Orc. Nothing protects you from a woman, especially one so beautiful," Theodred murmured in reply, fiddling with his belt.  
"My Lord. If you would just stay still for a moment, you shall be fine."  
"What if she doesn't like Rohan?" he blurted out.  
This caused the two men to chortle good-naturedly even more. Eventually, Halas overcame his laughter and managed, "She rides, does she not? Any rider shall love our land."  
"Besides, didn't you say that when asked, she felt that Rohan would be a place of freedom for her?" the other added.  
Theodred nodded, and went back to his thoughts. He had held reservations on the match, not because of her, but because what he saw from her brothers, especially the younger, and what his men were reporting from the City gossip. He also questioned his ability to make her happy. He did not wish to wed a woman and have her waste away in a country foreign to her. He did not want one so beautiful to fade and wither, and he did not know if he could truly make her happy. But when he had questioned her, she seemed sincere, and indeed, she had wanted to go to Rohan for freedom, and she had often confided in him of loneliness, of desperation, and feelings of being caged in the stone city. Her radiant smile, though infrequent, lit up his heart, and on all their occasions together, she had seemed happier than she had when she was at home. Theodred nodded to himself. Yes. He was doing the right thing. He loved her didn't he? Glancing at himself in the mirror, and slipping into his shoes, with his men flanking him, he clutched the door handle, and turned.  
  
The minstrels and bards were thriving, filling the damp air with music. However, Arien and her Anar could not be seen, covered by masses of dark clouds, issuing from the East, as if the heavens were mourning with Minas Tirith, with Faramir. Boromir saw his little brother staring up at the sky, as if demanding an answer from Elbereth, from Manwë, on why this had happened, why had they ordained this cruel fate for them. "Arien shows not, for she wants not to see our Elentari leave."  
"Yet Arien sees all, no matter where she is, unlike us," Faramir replied sadly.  
Trumpets announced the arrival of Theodred, flanked by his men, and Faramir closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing himself not to lash out at that hateful man. He knew any moment now, Elentari would appear.  
Denethor was more jovial than many had ever seen or remembered, greeting the many guests, including Prince Imrahil of Amroth, and many Gondorian nobles. Minas Tirith was empty, except on the highest level, where all crowded to see the ceremony, and enjoy the food.  
Faramir let the bard's voice wash over him:  
How beautiful the day and night;  
The earth is singing in the wind,  
The voices rise and touch the sky  
Telling all the earth's believing,  
And in the night sighs fall down,  
And from the skies sighs fall down on me.  
  
And when I move away from view  
My voice is singing in the wind—  
  
His song was never finished, for they needed not trumpets to announce the bride's arrival, for all grew silent and still, gazing at the Lady as she stood at the steps of the Citadel.  
Faramir felt his breath catch within him. The white, silken gown curved around her body, flattering her figure. Her long dark hair framed her ivory face, and a laced, white head shawl that ran down below her waist was held in place by the shimmering crown. The headdress that Denethor had gifted to her, the one that Finduilas had worn at her own wedding. Made by the Noldor of Lothlórien, the white gems glistened in her dark tresses. To both Faramir and Theodred, she looked more beautiful than any Elven princess, even Luthien Tinuviel.  
As she descended down the stairs, she greeted all that watched her, some with a nod, people she recognized with a smile. At the foot of the stairs, Denethor took her hand, murmured, "You look absolutely stunning," and led her to the dais where Theodred stood waiting. She saw Boromir, Imrahil, Araniel, and many others she had known and loved, all smiling happily for her; much happier than she herself felt.  
Denethor placed her hand in Theodred's, and announced, "Hereby do I give Elentari, daughter of Hurin and Ariethel, Star Maiden of Gondor, to Prince Theodred of Rohan in faithful wedlock. May the Valar watch over them and bring happiness and prosperity." Her fate was sealed.  
Faramir felt his heart shatter, and his breath gone, as his whole world came crashing in on him. He had dreaded this moment for months, even years, and had even prepared for it, but when the moment really came, he could not control himself, and it was not like anything he had ever felt before. He now knew the full meaning of the words devastation and despair.  
  
As they pledged their troths to one another, Elentari did all she could not to look at Faramir, who was trying harder than ever not to sprint to his room, into the safe haven, hoping that when he reemerged, everything was just a dream.  
As for Elentari, she played the part perfectly, assumed that she was absolutely content with marrying this man, smiling and repeating the words flawlessly. However, she avoided Theodred's eyes, as much as she could, for that, according to Boromir, was the one thing she never had any control over. She could act anything; pretend that nothing was wrong, until you looked deep into her eyes. Boromir had teased her when they were young about crying, for she could only hold back her tears for so long. Faramir had insisted that it was the most beautiful thing about her, but she had maintained that it would one day cost her heavily.  
Once the ceremony was done, the couple walked, hand in hand, down the dais, and Elentari called, "Let the feast begin!"  
She sat next to Theodred, and Araniel, who chattered incessantly and congratulated her.  
"He's so handsome," the younger girl, fast approaching womanhood, chattered, "But I find Faramir better. What of him?"  
Elentari quickly quieted her, and whispered, "As do I, yet life is not always what one wants, is it?"  
At this, Araniel looked confused, and asked, in a relatively loud voice, "But if you still lo—  
"Speak not of such things at this time!" Elentari hissed, and then murmured quietly, "We shall talk about it later, when there are no prying ears."  
When most were fed and watered, the minstrels began their enchanting craft. Theodred took her in his arms, and they began waltzing across the floor, all watching them. A few other couples joined in minutes later, and soon, the highest level of the White City had become a dance floor.  
To the amazement of many, Denethor, son of Ecthelion, came down from his seat on the dais, approached Theodred, and asked, "May I borrow her for a moment before you take her away?"  
"Certainly."  
Elentari was surprised at Denethor's skill at dancing, much better than what is expected of a man who has not danced since the death of his wife twenty odd years ago. However, he was no match for Boromir, who demanded to have his sister as a dancing partner for the last time.  
"You seem happy," Boromir commented.  
"After all these years, my brother, do you still find appearances truthful?" she replied.  
"In you, never," Boromir grinned, "You look absolutely beautiful."  
"And even on such a jubilant day," she stressed jubilant, "I still cannot lie and say that you are handsome."  
Boromir gasped, an air of mock dismay crossing his face, "How dare you!" He was still guiding her around the dance floor, "I pride myself on inheriting the best features of both my mother and my father!"  
"And what did Faramir?" she teased, trying to see how pompous she could get Boromir to sound.  
"It is common knowledge that I am the better looking of the two of us. I mean, just look at his nose, it looks more like a beak than anything else. His hair covers most of his face," Elentari could not help but giggling, for she vividly pictured everything Boromir described as being part of his own face.  
"Thank you for likening me to a duck," a voice said sourly.  
"Not at all, little brother," Boromir grinned, seeing the displeased look on Faramir's face, "I assume you want this partner?"  
"If you can spare her company," Faramir said formally, still acting very offended by Boromir's critique on his features.  
Boromir bowed low, his nose, as Faramir usually described as enlarged, almost touching the ground, and said courteously to Elentari, "Thank you, my Lady, for honoring me with such a wonderful dance, and such a generous compliment on my magnificent features."  
Many heard the loud "HA!" that Elentari could not stifle as Boromir skulked away. As the minstrels struck up a new tune, Faramir wrapped his arms around her waist, and they began to dance, slowly.  
Lovers in the long grass  
Look above them  
Only they can see  
Where the clouds are going  
Only to discover  
Dust and sunlight  
Ever make the sky so blue  
  
"Forgive me," was all she could utter as her head lay upon his shoulder. If she had cared, she would have commented on them being a bit too close for propriety, but at that moment, all she wanted was to cling on to him, to feel his touch.  
"I did that long ago," Faramir said, "Though I could not find much to forgive you for."  
Afternoon is hazy  
River flowing  
All around the sounds  
Moving closer to them  
Telling them the story  
Dreams they never knew  
  
Some they know as passion  
Some as freedom  
Some they know as love  
And the way it leaves them  
Summer snowflake  
For a season  
When the sky above is blue  
When the sky above is blue  
  
"We helped this bard with a few of these lyrics, remember?" Elentari said.  
"Yes. I added a few lines. I haven't heard them yet," Faramir said. "Well, as mistress of Rohan, what do you have planned for those folk?" The words pained him to say.  
"Don't be cruel, Faramir," she chastised.  
  
Lying in the long grass  
Close beside her  
Giving her the name  
Of the one the moon loves  
  
"Isilmë," he breathed, "There the line is. Isilmë, my moonlight."  
"I never felt I deserved that name," she murmured, "But it is beautiful and I couldn't refuse."  
  
This will be the day she  
Will remember  
When she knew his heart  
Was  
Loving in the long grass  
Close beside her  
Whispering of love  
And the way it leaves them  
  
"I love you, Faramir," she whispered, pressing her lips to his shoulder, planting an unnoticeable kiss there.  
  
Lying in the long grass  
In the sunlight  
They believe it's true love  
And from all around them  
Telling them of love  
And the way it breathes  
And  
Looking up from eyes of  
Amaranthine  
They can see the sky  
Is blue  
Knowing that their love  
Is true  
Dreams they never knew  
When the sky above is blue  
  
"Don't leave," he pleaded, his eyes desperate, "Gondor needs you. I need you." All his wit and lore vanished from his mind, and all he could think of was to beg her to stay, not to leave him, though he knew it was to no avail.  
"I could never truly leave Gondor, not to mention you. If they took me beyond the circles of the world, my spirit would find a way to you," she replied, "And my heart has never left you, and never shall."  
He nodded, a lump in his throat, "I shall not be whole. Rohan has taken both my life and my heart." He kissed the crown of her head.  
She saw Boromir coming, probably to separate them before anyone got too suspicious, and she whispered quickly, "I love you Faramir. If all else leaves you, know that I love you." 


	26. You shouldn't have to say goodbye

A/N: I know this is a bit short, but I wanted to focus the impact on what had happened. I don't own anyone, save Isilmë. Faramir is not mine ::sniff:: tear:: though David Wenham will very soon be, though he doesn't know it yet.  
  
Please review!!! I'm going to try to finish this story before I go on vacation, so expect a lot of updates. This way, I can write another story on the plane...  
  
Susan: sigh I hate you and your cliffhangers... Thank you for keeping me on my toes and for all the encouragement.  
  
Jazmin: Thank you sooo much for the codes! And for the last time: I KNOW THEODRED IS GOING TO DIE!!!! JUST WAIT!!!!! (says in a nice way!) YOU SHALL SEE!!!! I thank you for being so into the story to yell me in your review!  
  
Miriel Amarian: Maedhros!!! Thanks for reading and being just as obsessed!  
  
Chapter 26: You shouldn't have to say goodbye  
  
The cold wind blew through him, as he stood erect at the City walls, gazing out into the horizon. The company grew smaller and smaller, and the airstreams filled him with cold, with dread, for as the horses fell out of his sight, despair, despair that had threatened him for ages, finally conquered him.  
She was gone.  
  
The dead weight fell upon him, a veil between him and the world. Beside him, soldiers at their posts gossiped and laughed, but he heard none of it. He felt nothing, except a great deal of cold, ice piercing his heart, living in his veins.  
Minutes ago, she had stood there, straight and rigid as an arrow, looking upon and bidding the City farewell. Before they left, Imrahil and Araniel had made her swear that she would write them and that the fair city of Amroth was forever open to her. She smiled bitterly, thinking of the Sea.  
Denethor embraced her. "Gondor will miss you." Even at their farewell, he could not bring himself to say that he would miss her. Her expression was blank, but she embraced the only father she knew furiously, as all grievances she forgot.  
The Steward smiled, "Ariethel would have been so proud of you. Finduilas too."  
She swallowed, a flow of emotions surging, "You have been a good father. Thank you," and then, "Forgive me, Father, for any grievances I may have caused you."  
"Nay," there was a trace of remorse in Denethor's voice, "I am the one who should be saying so."  
She shook her head, and a hollow laugh was heard, "Dwell not upon it Father." He nodded, and kissed the crown of her head, "Farewell now, my daughter, and may the Valar watch over you and bring you happiness, my little sparrow." The childhood endearment caused a nostalgic smile to crease over her lips.  
"Farewell Father." Denethor embraced her one last time, even the cold Steward a bit unwilling to let go of his beloved foster daughter. Theodred was watching her patiently, allowing her as much time as she needed, for he himself felt tears rising as he saw the grief in all of their eyes. Three men, as different as could be, yet all tied together by their common love. Denethor, the austere Steward, unwilling to show any emotion, letting it simmer below his ascetic facade. Boromir, the great warrior, delighting chiefly in arms, ignorant of the aesthetic emotions, but protector of his people and of his sister; he doted upon the younger girl, teaching her the ways of the sword and gave her his undivided attention.  
And then there was Faramir. Words could not describe how much he loved her, and how he felt at this moment. It was as if knives, arrows, scimitars all fell upon him, yet he felt not a thing, except the breaking, piece by piece, of his heart, into fragments that could never be brought together again.  
He watched her graceful body move down the line, stopping at Boromir.  
  
"Leaving us? My little Elentari," Boromir's voice was still full of jest and tease.  
"Not so little anymore, dear brother," she replied, burying her face into his chest.  
He embraced her, a bit awkwardly, but fervently all the same, and whispered, "Show those Rohirrim what we Gondorians are about."  
He heard something between a laugh and a sob, "And if any of them dare to mistreat you, just send word, and I'll be there. They shall hear the Horn of Boromir over the mountains, and rue their arrogance as they suffer the wrath of Boromir of Gondor."  
She giggled, "You would scare them all off just by showing your big nose."  
He feigned an audible sigh, "Must you?" He reached up and patted his nose, "I find it quite attractive."  
"Which is why you have not wedded yet," she teased. Boromir managed to look quite affronted, but drew her once more into embrace, "I love you little sister."  
"Don't forget me Boromir."  
"That's impossible. And don't worry about Faramir either," he addressed her fears.  
"Take care of him for me," she made him promise. Releasing her, he watched as she sighed, and drew herself up proudly, as she went to face the greatest trial of her time, farewell to Faramir.  
  
His head was lowered as she approached him, willing himself not to let his tears spill over. She stood before him, and as she lifted his chin with her finger, he raised his tearful eyes to meet hers.  
They merely gazed into each other's eyes, locked together; needing no words to express the indescribable feelings they felt for each other.  
Finally, she lowered her head, and muttered, "It's too hard to say goodbye."  
"You shouldn't have to say goodbye," Faramir whispered back, taking her into his arms. The entire Citadel, and the Rohirrim were staring at them, but they saw none; all they saw was the depths of each other's eyes.  
"I hate doing this," she muttered again, "I can't think of any words."  
"None are needed," he pressed a gentle finger against her lips as she began to stutter and murmur again, "I love you."  
Upon hearing this, she raised her eyes once more to meet his, "I love you more than those words can tell."  
If the entire Citadel and her fiancé were not watching, Faramir and Elentari would have enveloped themselves into a passionate kiss, disregarding all around them, their problems melting away as they did into each other. Yet he contented himself by kissing her forehead, his lips lingering upon her skin, and she planted a tender kiss upon his cheek.  
"Namárië melda," she whispered one last time, freeing herself, most reluctantly, from his embrace. He clung onto her hand, lacing his fingers through, which caused some onlookers to raise an eyebrow, though Theodred saw not. Lovingly, he pressed his lips upon her hand, and uttered, "May Varda Elentari watch over you."  
She nodded, and was eerily placid, for her tears were spent, as she mounted Talcalina. Even the horse seemed to be sorrowful as she left her home, her stable beside Cirion, Faramir's steed. Elentari had insisted that she could ride, and Theodred had granted her request.  
"The Golden Hall beckons," he proclaimed before they rode off. He had already thanked Denethor for his hospitality, and like that, they were off.  
  
As the great Gate sealed behind her, barring her from all that she had ever known, she whispered, "Namárië Minas Tirith, masnya. Farewell Faramir, my love, namárië." Farewell Minas Tirith, my home 


	27. Echoes

A/N: Are you getting tired of introspection chapters? Well, I felt like I could sneak one in after all that action! Again, I wish Faramir was mine, but he belongs to the brilliant mind of JRR Tolkien, though David Wenham will very soon be mine! ALL MINE! PRECIOUS! (okay sorry)  
  
Thanks to all the reviewers! I reloaded this because somehow, the last bit of it originally got cut off!  
  
Chapter 27: Echo  
  
As the sky changed colors, Theodred ordered a halt, and his men began to set up camp. They had covered several leagues throughout, but at the pace they were going, it would take them a week more of traveling to reach Edoras.  
The men cooked some provisions that Denethor had provided from Minas Tirith, and soon, they had a fire smoldering and the men were talking and making merry. Elentari watched them, a small, languid smile upon her face, as she drank from a tin cup of tea that she had brewed, as she refused the ale the men had offered her. These men were now her countrymen, and she was now their lady. She watched them chattering and teasing one another, and realized, 'they aren't so different from the soldiers of Gondor. Not so different from Boromir and Faramir.' Yet no one could be like Faramir, or even Boromir for that matter. No one, no one could replace, or even come close to them in her heart.  
Theodred had been brushing and rubbing down Brego, his steed, but had been watching Elentari from afar. He was pleased that she seemed at least content, and had a trace of a smile around her lips, tired as she looked. After massaging Brego's muscles and whispering a few words to his beloved steed, he went over to his affianced. She took her eyes off the fire as he approached, and as he offered her a smile, moved over so he could sit.  
"Tired?" he asked.  
She nodded wearily, though the sadness upon her was not as evident, which was what he had hoped.  
"Well, we're still in Gondor, so you should be familiar with our surroundings still," Theodred said. She looked around, at the trees and heard the birds, and said, "I know the air, the trees, and the songs of the birds, but I never strayed too far away from Minas Tirith. The farthest I ever went was to Dol Amroth, and that was in visits."  
"Did Denethor hoard his treasure so?" Though he said it teasingly, there was an air of seriousness in the question.  
"I am here with you," she replied, "He can't have guarded it too seriously. Yet I am no treasure."  
"Tell that to your brothers," she looked up in alarm, and he laughed at the bewildered look upon her face, "I saw the look in their eyes when we left."  
She hung her head wistfully, thinking of Faramir, sorrow gracing her features, and Theodred was sorry he had mentioned it, for he hated when her eyes grew filmy and distant, full of nostalgic melancholy; a sorrow he did not understand, nor did she allow anyone to.  
A stiff breeze blew over, causing the trees to whisper, and she shivered in the cold, her thin, muslin traveling dress barely covering her, though the fire was nearby. He reached over, pulling a woolen blanket from his pack, and wrapped it around her gently. His hand lingered, a bit tensely, around her shoulder, and as she did not protest, or make any sign of objection, he relaxed, little by little.  
"My rider brings word that my father is most anxious to meet you," Theodred said, "As is Eomer and Eowyn, though Eomer said he needed not another woman to put up with." Another smile, colored by regret curved over her mouth, as she thought of Theodred's cousins.  
"I should very much like to meet Eowyn," she mused.  
"You remind me of her," Theodred's eyes were distant, "Though I would say you are water and Eowyn-fire." Elentari yawned heavily, and leaned her head against Theodred for support. It felt awkward to her, and out of place, though she was too tired to complain, and of course, there was no use in complaining. This was the man she would spend the rest of her life with; she might as well get used to it.  
  
Theodred had insisted that she rest for the night, and guided her to a tent, where the men had placed some of her belongings, as she had requested.  
  
As she lay there, trying to sleep her first night in the Wild, the tears that she had deprecated and fiercely denied the entire day finally spilled over. Her entire body wracked with sobs, for herself, for Faramir, for Boromir, Denethor, even Theodred.  
For the entire day, she had been eerily aloof, feeling nothing, and hearing just the sound of the waves crashing in her mind. She wanted to be there, to let Ulmo take her, to hear the gulls crying. Now, that control vanished as abruptly as it had come, threatening to let her emotions engulf her. The look in Faramir's eyes had shattered her, and she wanted nothing but to dart back, back into that stone Gate, back up the seven levels, into his arms.  
When Theodred had touched her, she had felt tremors going up her body, but instead of the shivers of desire that Faramir had instilled in her, these were ones of insecurity, anxiety, and even fear. She knew naught what she feared, for he was a kindly man, and she could tell that he loved her, which made the guilt inside her gnaw even more furiously. Tossing and turning, sleep eluded her, and the passing minutes only intensified her grief and longing for home, for Faramir's arms. At home, she merely had to go across the corridor, a few meters, and there was Faramir, in his room, welcoming her, no matter the hour. She wanted to slash holes in the tent, and was tempted to reach for her sword, for the cloth encircled her, blocking her from all view of the sky, of the white gems of fire embedded in the dark blanket that she drew so much comfort from.  
The closed area stifling her, she threw her coverlets off, donned her coat, and went outside. Theodred was nowhere in sight, and the men were crowded around the fire. She made her way to the back of the camp, to the horses.  
Her Talcalina was standing, apart from all the Rohirric creatures, thrusting her proud mane, as if exhibiting her Gondorian lineage, shunning the horses of the North.  
Seeing her mistress, Talcalina trotted over, nuzzling Elentari with her head. Elentari fed her a treat, hugging her beloved horse's head, "It's good to see one familiar face, is it not, dear girl?"  
The mare was restless, and neighed, facing southwards, showing her master that home was that way, and shook the earth with her hoofs.  
"I know, I know, Talcalina," she whispered, easing her friend, hugging her head, "I know you miss Cirion," Faramir's steed, "I do too. Easy girl. I wish he were here," except she was referring more to Cirion's owner, than Cirion himself. She felt something wet grace her cheek, and saw that her horse had tears coming out of her eyes. At first, she looked up to the night sky, disbelievingly, thinking that it was rain, but sure enough, those were tears from Talcalina's eyes.  
She soothed her horse for a while, hugging the mare's head, stroking her mane, until she heard a voice, "This is a thing to behold; a Gondorian lady amongst the horses when even Rohirric men are asleep."  
She spun around so quickly that the man laughed, "Fear not, I meant no harm." She nodded in acknowledgement and he said, "But where are my manners? I am Halas, my Lady," he bowed.  
She smiled, liking the man's frankness, "I never understood the title thing, but yes, I remember you often beside Theodred."  
"Theodred is a good man," he said it almost to reassure her, as if knowing her heart, "I grew up in Edoras beside him, so I can say better than anyone."  
"I can't wait to see it," her answer was half-hearted, and he sensed it in her voice.  
"Might I be frank, my Lady?" Halas asked.  
"Elentari," she wanted them to call her by her name. It was all foreign to her already, and she needed not the lines of courtesy isolating her, "And yes, you may."  
He nodded, "Well, Elentari. It may be just my simple-minded imagination, but it seems, well, how should I say this. You seem sad," he simply put.  
"A common conception," she said.  
"I notice you did not disagree," he replied, "May I ask why?"  
She did not answer him for a moment, and it seemed to him that she was trying to find a best answer for his question, "Halas, tell me. Do you love Edoras?"  
"Of course, it is my home."  
"And do you have family? A father? Brothers, perhaps?"  
"My father died years ago, when he was still riding in an eored, but my mother yet lives, with my wife and child."  
"How old is your child?" she inquired.  
"Just born when I last left home for Gondor," Halas replied, his face lighting up as he thought about seeing his beloved wife and child again.  
"Now tell me Halas. What if you had to leave them all? You had to leave all that you love, for a land that you do not know. Say that you had to leave your family, your city, and your country, for Gondor, to stay there. Would you be rejoicing?"  
"Of course not," Halas' face showed shock and dismay. Elentari showed an almost sarcastic smile, and it finally dawned upon Halas.  
"Oh," he uttered softly, "I am sorry, my Lady. I have never thought of it that way."  
"Well now you know," she replied, "I have enjoyed speaking with you on this beautiful night, Halas. I bid you good night."  
  
A soft song was upon her lips as she gazed up at the stars, drawing strength like the Elves long ago.  
Come to me in the silence of the night  
Come in the speaking silence of a dream.  
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright  
As sunlight on the stream  
Come back in tears  
O memory of hope, love of finished years.  
  
The buried tears threatened her again, and she choked to keep the song going.  
  
O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bittersweet  
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise  
Where souls brim-full of love abide and meet;  
Where thirsting, longing eyes  
Watch the slow door  
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.  
  
Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live  
My very life again though cold in death  
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give  
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath  
Speak low, lean low  
As long ago, my love, how long ago...  
  
Are you gazing at the same stars as me, Faramir? Are you thinking of me, longing for me, as I for you? 


	28. Why?

A/N: The House of Hurin introspection time! All three men. Looks like I can't finish before I leave for my three-week trip on Tuesday!!! Ahh! Under my original plan, I might be able to, but I want to develop the relationship between Eowyn and Elentari in Rohan, which will take a while... Reviewers! Do you think that's good or not?  
  
I've just been working out ages and years and stuff from the Appendices. Right now, Eowyn should be around 13, Faramir 25 (Wow. They were 12 years apart?) and Elentari at that rate, 21... This is the year 3008 of the Third Age. Whoa... Theodred would be like 31... Hmm... Well, Boromir was 30, so that's okay, I guess. This is around 10 years before the War of the Ring.  
  
Thanks to all the reviewers and readers!!! Keep at it!!! I'm working as fast as my schedule can allow! QuickEdit is being extremely difficult right now!  
  
Thanks this time is especially to Susan (Roisin Dubh), for being the 100th reviewer!!! I'm so happy!! Thanks to every who helped get me to this!! ::tears of joy:: Check out her work & help her get there too! She's awesome! (shameless plugs)  
  
Chapter 28: Why?  
  
Boromir seldom let troubles get to him, preferring to leave his shrewd father and thoughtful brother to do that, but this time, worry, and an emotion he did not experience often: grief, rushed about him. He had watched, alongside his brother, the company of Rohirrim, escorting and in his opinion, kidnapping his beloved sister. After they had disappeared, his senses finally kicked back in, and he whispered softly, "Faramir," as he prepared to go back.  
If Faramir had heard him, he indeed did not respond, for he stood erect and stiff, eyes distant and full of tears. Knowing that his brother was beyond his reach, Boromir sighed silently, put a hand on Faramir's shoulder, and went back to the Citadel.  
  
Denethor gazed down from his dark Tower, though it was named the Tower of the Sun. His thoughts were darker than the lightless room, as he too, followed the fading Riders, and lingered onto his son, standing, so stiff that he looked lifeless, but a dead man, or any man in a right state, could endure standing so straight and so still for that long. A voice called out to him within, a voice that he had long buried deep down inside of the closet of memories, but had never allowed dust to gather upon, sweet Finduilas.  
"Go down to him, comfort him," the voice beckoned. Denethor merely shook his head, and she continued, "Is it so wrong to show your son you care?"  
Denethor shook his head again, and said in his thoughts, "He could spit in my face."  
"Does he have reason to?" The Steward merely blinked guiltily, knowing that any answer he liked would be a lie.  
After a long sequence of uncompleted thoughts and jumbles in his mind, the only clear thought that Denethor had, and would not leave him alone, was: I miss her.  
It was the second time in his life that he had let a woman go without a fight, and he hated himself for it. When Finduilas was withering before his eyes, he saw nothing, and when counsel was whispered upon the matter, he angrily dismissed it and discredited the men who offered it. Finally, when she was taken to the Houses of Healing after collapsing in the Hall, he at last admitted that she was ill, though he would not accept that his ladylove was dying, but did not fight for her. When Mandos had stolen her from his arms one spring morning, he had never thought that he could love anyone again, save Boromir, but the young girl that both his wife and her dearest friend had left behind crawled into his heart. His little sparrow, who had perched upon his knee and sang him songs and had even gotten him to sing, on a few occasions that he preferred to dismiss.  
How had Adrahil done this?  
How had he given up Finduilas so easily? Denethor groaned as he closed his eyes and recalled the same ceremony he had just arranged being played out, except the bride this time was Finduilas and he was taking her away from her beloved home. Had he not seen the tears in Adrahil's eyes? Maybe he dismissed them as tears of joy, but he now doubted them. Yet he had stood there, merely a few hours before, calmly escorting a reluctant bride, placing her forced hand within that of a foreign prince who wanted her.  
Yet she had forgiven him, and had begged his forgiveness. How could she beg for his forgiveness when she was the one who should be forgiving? Guilt gnawed at him as he watched his younger son, the one that she had clung to, desperately lingering for. No. He would not go down to Faramir. If Boromir could not move him, no one could. And thus, Denethor, son of Ecthelion, turned from his window, and added yet another crime of fatherhood to the mountain accumulated.  
  
She wasn't gone. She couldn't be gone. He would turn and go into the Citadel, and she would be there, smiling at the dinner table, waiting for him to take his usual seat beside her. After dinner, in which they would hear Boromir's pompous tales and Denethor's critical, icy talk, if the Steward called for it, she would sing, or both of them, and afterwards, the two of them and sometimes Boromir, would head to a cozy room near their quarters, with a fire, and talk. While Boromir was telling his tales, she might pick up a book, or take out a spare piece of parchment, composing new poems or songs for him to create melodies for.  
When and if they had finished a new song, Boromir would demand to hear it, and they would perform it to him, without instruments of course, for that would cause a disturbance.  
Then they would bid Boromir a good night, and she would either go to her room, or follow him to his, or he would go to hers. The stars would be up, and as she would gaze at them, he would marvel, as he did every night, at how beautiful she looked under the moonlight.  
He instinctively tugged at his collar, grasping the faithful chain that dangled there. Varda Elentari, Elbereth; a prayer to that Queen of Stars, wife of Manwë, upon that silvery orb; her necklace; what use was a necklace as a token when she herself was gone? Did she really think that he needed something like this to remember her by? Without closing his eyes, he could instantly feel her arms around him, her face buried into his chest, his fingers through her hair, her warm mouth. No, he did not need to close his eyes; he felt the need for her every moment of his being, and could just feel her touch, teasing, tempting, yet never there when he tried to grasp it.  
Guide us Lady Varda; take us to where we'll be at peace. That was what the necklace said, but what had she done? What had any of them done? They had done nothing to keep her with him. They had taken her away, mercilessly dragging her away from beneath his arms. What had they done? He looked up into the sky. The faintest traces of stars were just visible, but Faramir felt they were sneering at him, leering at his loss.  
"WHY?" he screamed at no one, except the darkening sky, "WHY? WHAT DID WE DO? WHAT DID SHE DO?" He held the chain in his hand, and part of his body screamed to throw it out into the myriad of the City, shattering into uncountable pieces, just as his heart was now. "WHAT DID I DO? WHAT DOES THAT MAN HAVE THAT DESERVES HER MORE THAN ME?" He would have gone on, but he was choked between another shriek on the tears that now erupted. Between his silent tears, shaking horribly, he could only whisper, "Why? Why?"  
Citizens levels down could hear the spine-tingling shrieks, and all could see their young leader in his distraught state, and whispers erupted again.  
"Why?" was all he could manage, and finally, "Isilmë... why?"  
  
The door creaked open, a door that he had opened so many times before that he didn't know how to count there anymore. A tainted smile crossed his face as yet another wave of nostalgia hit him. He and Boromir had teased her about her numbers, when she had just begun them, and Boromir had given her wrong information, which made the tutor furious, and had threatened to whip the boys if they mislead their sister any further.  
It was so empty. Everything was gone, save a few pieces of spare furniture. Yet just the smell of the room imbued strength into him, as he shut the door behind him. There was no pieces of parchment, all varying in age and color, sticking all over her walls; some finished, others lacking words here and there.  
His hand lay upon the dresser. There was already dust on it. He was disgusted, and quickly blew and waved all the dust off. He would not allow dust to collect on his memories, stowed away deep somewhere, all but forgotten until some vivid spark re-ignites them. She would not be forgotten, covered by thin wisps, a faint shadow of what she once was within this room. Her windowsill was covered a thick layer of dust, layers of dust and sorrow, but somehow, he could not make himself reach out to touch it, scatter the dust, for within those particles, he saw the faintest imprint of her hand, pressing against the windowsill as she gazed up at the stars. He could not disturb what was there for fear that he would lose it forever. She had loved the stars, loved Varda Elentari for creating them; the necklace was still clasped in his hand firmly. She had always insisted and believed that the Valar, especially Elbereth, would watch over them, aiding them in times of need. Yet where was she? Where was Lady Elbereth when they had needed her? Once again, he wanted to scream out in frustration, and throw the necklace as far as he could, so it could shatter like he was.  
Yet she had loved that necklace, as her mother had, when his own mother had given it to her. She had made him promise, on more than one occasion, to keep it safe and cherish it, but he found that he could no longer look upon the soft inscriptions and not feel boiling rage erupt, as he wanted to curse the Valar. If he was possessed by some evil, he cared not, and he asked if this was a taste of what Feanor had felt so many years ago, when his dearest treasure had been stolen from him. Like him, Faramir had also lost his cherished beloved. The Silmarils, how could they compare to the luminous expanse within her eyes?  
Slowly, he moved away from the window; it was all so bare, so empty. There were no books piled up on the floor, papers flung everywhere, some useless, others cherished. He couldn't see the cards and marbles in neat little packs on her bureau that they had played with in days past. No combs to thread throw her thick hair, her closet empty. He moved to the bed, and felt under the mattress. Even that was gone, the soldier's slacks and shirt that Boromir had snuck to her one year when she had complained. She had donned them in secrecy, once in a while, and snuck out with the two of them.  
With tears in his eyes, he closed the door behind him, and whispered, "Farewell, Isilmë." 


	29. Butterflies on the water

A/N: Well, I was praying and working my tail of trying to finish this chapter before I leave tomorrow, and guess what? I did!!! So proud of myself! Hey! Between a summer school final paper, a project, AND packing for my trip, I think I did pretty well!  
  
I'm rather fond of this chapter, so I hope readers will be too. I'll be writing as much as I can on my trip. But you'll have to wait three weeks! Unless I get lucky and find Internet access in England where I'm staying! Yay! I can't wait! Get ready for a flurry of poems and more chapters of this when I get back, because I'll be writing a lot!  
  
Thanks to all the reviewers and readers that choose not to leave a little note!!!! Keep at it!!! I'm working as fast as my schedule can allow! QuickEdit is being extremely difficult right now!  
  
Susan: I can't wait to read more!!! Malificus! Check out her stories! She's Roisin Dubh.  
  
Chapter 29: Butterflies on the water  
  
"My Lord!" Theodred heard the unmistakable voice of Halas call, "My Lord!"  
Brego turned, to see Halas riding up from the back of the company, where he accompanied Elentari, for she had grown to like his blunt company.  
  
"Yes Halas?"  
"My Lord, could we not stop for a rest?" The candor of his request drew him aback for a moment.  
"We have only been riding for a few hours, Halas. Surely you do not tire so soon?"  
He colored, "It is not I, my Lord, but the Lady. She won't admit it, but I can see her strength waning."  
Theodred was touched by the sincerity in the man's eyes, and smiled to himself that she had found her way into the hearts of his men.  
"My Lord?" Halas questioned for he heard no answer from Theodred.  
"We will ride until the next shelter of trees, and to my memory, it is not too far away. There, we shall rest."  
Halas bowed as he could, on his horse, and trotted back to the end. Theodred's gaze lingered upon the man. He knew naught what it was, but Elentari had taken a liking to Halas, and when he had asked her why, she had answered, "I like his candor, how he won't hide anything from you. If he has something to say, he'll say it, without coloring it with pretty wiles and words that are meant to soften the bad news. I grew up in court and I know that it is rare to come across this quality."  
To his word, Theodred signaled a halt at the next shelter, and while some men scouted the surrounding area for danger, others prepared some food and refreshments. After ensuring that everything was fine, Theodred sat down beside his bride.  
She offered a faint smile, which he returned, and he asked, "How are you feeling?"  
"I'm fine."  
"Are you sure?" he eyed her dubiously.  
"Don't look at me that way," her voice was playful.  
"Halas said you were tiring," he looked worried, for Halas had also privately confronted him, worriedly, telling him that her strength seemed less with each passing day. They had entered the realm of Rohan, and were making steady progress towards Edoras, but he himself had also noticed the rapid deterioration of her health, as much as she tried to cover it.  
"Halas worries overmuch," she smiled.  
"Yet he does not worry without reason," Theodred replied.  
She sighed, "I'm fine, Theodred. You sound like Faramir."  
"Is that not a good thing?" he questioned, and she looked at him puzzledly. "Those that worry about you love you the most."  
"Sometimes it is those that love us that hurt us the most," she twisted his words against him.  
"Ai, you're right, but it shows that they do, indeed, love you." For this, Elentari had no answers, merely closed her eyes. As she held her head in her hands, hunched over, her knees supporting her, he placed a hand on her shoulder, and with the other, carefully lifted her chin up.  
"I know you're tired," Theodred stroked her cheek gently, and she felt eerie shivers running through her, "But I'm afraid it's something more."  
"It is nothing, my Lord," she murmured, pressing her lips against his hand, yet feeling it was out of place.  
"If you say so," but she could tell he wasn't convinced. She had, indeed, felt light-headed at times, and the constant riding had surprisingly, been quite a toll on her, which she did not feel as natural. Though she never had experience with riding at days at a time, it was something she enjoyed, and had never before tired from. Yet she merely dismissed it as a side effect of moving for so long, and she had never been so far away from home. No. This is your home now; Rohan, not Gondor.  
  
They rode on, after a short rest, and Halas kept fussing over her, insisting that she had not eaten enough, or that she looked too pale. Finally, she snapped, "Halas! I'm fine!" Seeing the stricken look upon his face, she softened, "Listen. I know you meant well, and I really appreciate your concern, but just let me ask you this. The first time we spoke, you told me that you had a young wife and a newborn, along with your elderly mother." Halas nodded, "Do your wife and mother fuss over you so?"  
"My mother used to, when I was a child, my Lady," Halas replied, still a bit apprehensive.  
"You know you needn't address me in that title when we're alone," she said for the umpteenth time, but knew that Halas would not abide, "But how did you feel when your mother did that?"  
Halas thought about it for a moment, and answered, "Like a young child, and I kept insisting that I was too grown for that kind of treatment."  
"Exactly. Now you understand my point?"  
Halas hated the way that she could always prove him wrong, especially using his own words, but nodded, "Yes, my La--, I mean, Elentari," but he felt uncomfortable just calling her that, so he added, "Miss."  
She smiled at his hesitation, especially when he added, "I'm sorry, miss. I'm just worried that if you need something, you won't ask for it."  
"Thank you for being so considerate," and he could tell that she meant it, "And I assure you, if I want something, I'll go out of my way to have it." Pity, the thing I want most is something I'm going farther away from every passing moment.  
"How far are we from Rohan?" she asked.  
He chuckled a bit, "We are in Rohan, my Lady, I mean Elentari. We are about two days away from Edoras, the way we're going now. I know Theoden King will be eager to meet you, and young Lady Eowyn. It will be nice for her to have another one of you womenfolk in the Hall with her, if you don't mind me saying so."  
  
They rode on till dusk, and started very early the next morning, and witnessed, as Elentari said, "The most beautiful sunrise." It had only been a few hours until Elentari, as Halas put it, "Simply dozed off on her horse," but after informing Theodred and ensuring that she wouldn't fall off, which Talcalina would never allow, they rode on.  
Starting early in the morning allowed them to set up camp early, by a beautiful lake, little more than a day's ride from Edoras, and they felt very secure against any attacks. Elentari had not awoken, and Theodred had lifted her gently off Talcalina, carried her in his arms to an awning his men had set up, and placed her on a few layers of blankets. She had felt so light in his arms, too light for what she should weigh, but as he watched her sleeping, her chest rising and falling with each intake of breath, he could not bear to wake her, and marveled at how beautiful, yet fragile, she looked, like a precious gem, so beautiful and delicate, shining radiantly, but can easily shatter, losing all its light.  
Watching her, he lost track of time, and soon, the Sun began to descend. He wondered if he should wake her, for she had been asleep for a very long time, and had been rather still, and if it had not been for her soft breathing, he would have been worried if she was still here with them.  
Finally, she whispered a name, though he could not hear it. He grasped her hand, and strained his ears intently, trying to catch what she said. "Fara— she didn't finish her word, but he could guess whom she was calling for. Yet he dismissed it after some brief thought.  
When he looked down at her again, she was smiling faintly, her eyes open just enough that he could tell that she was awake.  
"Good morning," he smiled at her.  
"What time is it?" she groaned, stretching her arms.  
"Nearing dusk. What happened to the 'I'm not tired' statement that you kept issuing?" There was a good-natured glint in his eyes and a smile curving at the side of his lips.  
She stretched again, and yawning said, "I dreamt. I'd forgotten we were riding. I was dreaming, dreaming of a time when all of us, Boromir, Faramir, and I, visited Dol Amroth." Yet she did not elaborate this memory to him.  
Once she had finally decided to rise, he pulled her up, and murmured, "Come with me." But then, he stopped again, and pulled out a piece of cloth.  
"May I?" he motioned to tie it on her.  
"Now Theodred, what is so special that it requires me to walk blindly?" she asked, though gave her consent.  
Once he ensured that the blindfold was tight enough, and had to test to see if she could see anything, he took her hands, and guided her forward.  
"Are you sure you're not leading me into an Orc ambush or something?" she mused, trying to see through the cloth.  
"Well, you should trust me," Theodred replied. Elentari heard the splashing of water nearby, and smiled. Theodred bid her to stop, and gently removed the cloth, though making her swear that she would keep her eyes shut until he told her otherwise.  
"Now." Elentari gasped as the breath-taking sight greeted her, as Theodred grinned triumphantly. The lake was in resplendent grandeur reflecting beneath the myriad of colors of the sunset. The soft tones of blue and lilac were interwoven with the fiery shades of red, orange, and fading yellow. The light hit the water at a perfect angle, shimmering the outline of the sun, and Elentari felt she had never seen anything that beautiful, save once, in Dol Amroth, of which she had dreamed.  
  
"Faramir! Where are you going?" Imrahil questioned his adolescent nephew.  
"We were thinking about going out, onto the lake," Faramir answered, a faint tremble in his voice.  
"Who's 'we'?" Imrahil asked, a bit skeptically.  
"Isilmë and I. We were planning to go to that place where all the willows drape over the lake."  
"Oh," Imrahil ceded, "Be back for dinner." Faramir grinned once his uncle was out of sight. He ran to the dock, where she was already waiting for him.  
"Took you long enough," she teased.  
"Uncle stopped me," Faramir replied, "Put me through a full interrogation."  
  
Isilmë shook her head. They had been so young then, five years ago. She was sixteen, and he, just before his twentieth birthday, insisting that he was a man. Seeing this lake stirred the vivid, beloved memory from deep within her.  
  
"Will you help me row?" Faramir barked at her as he guided the boat.  
"No."  
"Why not?" he was sweating.  
"Because I like to admire the beauty of the water," and she meant it, "And besides, I love watching you toil and sweat."  
"Brat," he murmured to himself, barely audibly.  
"What did you call me?" she looked positively affronted.  
"You heard me," he had an impish grin upon his face, and before she could react, he had reached into the water, and splashed water all over her. She screamed, and before long, they both launched into a water attack. He pelted her relentlessly, until her dress was soaked through and through.  
  
Finally, they held a truce, and he continued to row, and Isilmë held a paddle in her hand, occasionally dipping it into the water, so to avoid Faramir's scowls. She felt the grazing of a willow strand upon her back. They entered the canopy of majestic, ageless trees, and she admired their transcendent beauty. Yet above the timeless trees, the songs of the sweet birds, and even the inviting water, she marveled at him the most. She blushed as she noticed him regarding her as well, and asked, "Why do you look at me that way?"  
"I can never get over how beautiful you are," he replied, no embarrassment coloring him, for he was merely stating what he believed to be a fact, "I want to capture this moment in my mind forever, the song of the birds, how your hair is disheveled from all the water, yet still frames your face marvelously, the way your eyes gaze at me from beneath those lashes, matching the color of the water, making me want you, enticing me to spring off of my seat into your arms." She smiled, tears of delight in her eyes, but right when she had ventured into another world, she was jerked back, as cold water splashed all over her. She looked up to see Faramir grinning, and before she could realize what happened, they were already into the fight. The next thing she knew, she was plummeted into the cold water.  
"FARAMIR!!" she screamed, as she saw him grinning smugly, comparatively dry, from the small boat, "I'll have your head for this!"  
"I am waiting, my Lady," he mocked a bow, "Yet I do not see—he hadn't finished when he too, joined her in the summer water. The first thing she heard when he resurfaced was, "That's it," as he swam towards her viciously, forcing her head beneath the water.  
Once they had finished attempting to torment one another, they crawled back, totally soaked, into the overturned boat, and lay there, exhausted, in each other's arms.  
"Isilmë?" he faintly murmured into her neck.  
"Mmhm?"  
"Look," he pointed up into the sky. Two butterflies were skittering across the blue horizon, sometimes together, sometimes apart, flirting with one another, enticing the other to come nearer. Yet in the end, they joined, flying as one, bound by love.  
"I love you," he kissed her neck.  
"And I, you," she moaned as pleasure swept through her.  
  
Theodred had been watching her; her eyes distant and dreamy, and he knew that she was lost in some far off memory, one that he was not in. Suddenly however, she jerked back, and offered him another smile, yet this one was tainted by nostalgia.  
"Care to share what you were thinking of?" Theodred asked, once they were seated at the edge of the lake, her eyes never leaving the shining surface.  
She shook her head, "Merely reliving a memory long gone."  
"Happier times," it was more to himself than to her. She nodded, and turned to see him smiling at her.  
"Let us enjoy what the men have cooked up tonight," Theodred proposed, and Elentari groaned. She could only hope that the women of Rohan could cook better than the men could, for if they didn't, she couldn't see how they had survived all these years. Halas and Theodred had not allowed her to cook however, and she was secretly relieved, for she had never enjoyed the arduous task.  
"Come now, not so loud!" Theodred chastised mischievously, "They can hear you! You'll hurt their feelings, even if it is the truth." She pushed him playfully, her laughter ringing in Rohan for the first time.  
As they ate, gazing out into the transcendent beauty of the lake meeting with the sun, she remembered other times, but reminded herself that, there is no use reminding yourself of what you once had, making yourself forgetful of what you have now, until that is gone, too.  
  
A/N: I know some of the dialogue is rather "modern" if you will it, but I just didn't feel like changing it. Anybody catch the symbolism with the butterflies? I don't know. I just felt like writing it. Does it even make sense? Review! If any of you become impatient with my lack of updates since I'm gone for the next three weeks, just remember this: I promise to update this story at least 4 times a week once I get back and I'm going to post a lot of poetry! Review! Thanks! 


	30. Welcome to Edoras

A/N: I'm back!!! Some of you may have noticed with the two poems I posted, but I have just realized how emotionally taxing this story is to write. I didn't get too into her feelings in this one, just because I think I would've ended up exhausted with a migraine.  
  
Thanks to all the reviewers and readers that choose not to leave a little note!!!! Keep at it!!! I'm working as fast as my schedule can allow! QuickEdit is being extremely difficult right now!  
  
Chapter 30: Welcome to Edoras!  
  
Thirteen-year old Eowyn flew out of her quarters, into the early morning sun, as she heard the sweet call of the horns wafting across the land. Theodred! He had finally come home! She was joined by Eomer, and they gazed across their beloved plains together, waiting for the retinue to come into the gate of Edoras.  
  
The wooden gate seemed so small, not at all like the looming, formidable stone of Minas Tirith, and Elentari gazed anxiously at the fair- haired people that greeted them. They cheered, and were glad their beloved prince was back, but Elentari knew and saw all eyes boring into her, looking her over, making up their minds about her, and forming gossip, before they ever even knew her.  
Let them see. Let them look upon me. I will not falter. As she dismounted Talcalina, stroking her head, she held her head up high, her steps never faltering, though she felt weak. She accepted Theodred's arm, and one by one, made it up the stairs, to the awaiting King, and his court.  
She bowed low, and it was only after he had bidden her to rise, did Elentari first look upon Theoden King, her father by marriage. He looked upon her with kindly eyes, blue like the sky, and though his face was etched with deep lines, the cares of a declining country, and the wear of time, he smiled at her warmly, as if knowing her insecurity and fear. How different this man seemed from Denethor.  
"Welcome home, my son," he greeted Theodred, embracing his son.  
"It's been too long since I've seen this lands," Theodred returned, "But I bring home something sweeter to my eyes than all." He motioned to Elentari, who curtseyed again, "This is Elentari, Father." He surveyed her, and smiled again, as if he liked what he saw, "Welcome to Edoras, dear daughter. I have long waited this day, and now I see that Gondor did not speak a falsehood when she praised you."  
Color rose to her cheeks, and she murmured, "My Lord is too kind."  
Theoden merely smiled, and then beckoned two people standing behind him forth, a lad and a maiden, clearly of the same house, for the resemblance could not be denied.  
"Theodred!" the young maid sprang into her cousin's arms.  
"How you've grown, Eowyn!" Theodred said as he hugged the girl. As he released her, the lad pushed her aside, and gruffly said, "Enough of that. You're not the only one who hasn't seen him for months." His sister pouted as he greeted his cousin.  
Theodred released the both of them, and then motioned to Elentari, who stood, watching the loving scene with a smile upon her face, "Eowyn, Eomer, this is Elentari." She smiled, seeing the young girl, hanging at the edge of womanhood, a flower in the last days of winter.  
The younger girl cocked her head, gazing at this newly found sister of hers, and after looking her over, let a slow smile spread over her face. This woman standing before appeared kindly enough, her smile genuine, which was something not often found in this declining land. However, there was something behind her smiling eyes that led Eowyn to falter for a moment; some distant grief that no one could place or understand.  
Elentari was glad that Eowyn seemed to approve of her, for that had been one of the only few thin strands of optimism she had held about coming to Rohan. Yet the girl's older brother, standing protectively by her side, as if expecting her to suddenly leap out, brandishing a sword, to attack his sister, looked at her in disdain, untrustingly, his eyes narrowed.  
She quickly looked away, and noticed that he had averted his gaze also, as if realizing his rude glare, and hastily made some semblance of a nod for a greeting. Theodred noticed and raised a disapproving eyebrow at Eomer, but did not achieve the subtlety he had planned.  
After seeing that everyone was introduced, Theodred motioned to go in. Elentari hesitated for a moment, still unsure of her place, or what to do, but Theoden beckoned her kindly, "Come now child. This is your home. Be not afraid of it," knowing her insecurity.  
The heavy bars of the doors were lifted, and doors swung slowly inwards, grumbling on their great hinges, and as Elentari stood still on the great stone steps, she was filled in awe of the renowned Golden Hall before her. The hall was long and wide, filled with shadows and half lights; mighty pillars, crested with gold, held up the high roof. From here and the eastern windows, bright sunbeams fell in glimmering shafts, which was what really gave Meduseld her majestic beauty. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realized that the floor was paved with stones of many hues; branching runes and strange devices intertwined beneath her feet. She instantly promised that she would spend time on her knees, examining these, deciphering and admiring every stroke of the brush, every chisel in the stone to create this intricate beauties. Looking closely, she noticed that the pillars were richly carved, gleaming dully with gold and other half- seen colors. Many woven cloths and tapestries hung upon the walls, and over their wide spaces marched figures of ancient legend, some dim with years, some darkling in the shade. As if to contradict her thought that this hall would've been beautiful, if there had been some light in it, the sunlight fell upon one form: a young man upon a white horse. He looked strangely familiar to her, and she could've sworn she'd seen this before. He was blowing a great horn, and his yellow hair was flying in the wind. The horse's head was lifted, and his nostrils were wide and red as it neighed, smelling battle from afar. Foaming water, green and white, rushed and curled about its knees. Suddenly, it struck her whom this was, "Eorl the Young," she whispered to herself. Yet Theoden had heard her.  
"Indeed, that is he," he replied.  
"Gondor's savior," she murmured.  
"He swore an oath," Theoden said, "And like all good men, he kept it."  
Theodred came into the discussion, "I see you have recognized him, our great forefather."  
She nodded, and Theoden smiled, "I see my new daughter is well learned."  
Theodred chuckled, "You should hear her sing. She knows the lays of all lands, and writes her own, too. She can tell you all about Epona, or the earliest days of Rohan."  
Elentari colored, and murmured, "You flatter me, Theodred. Don't swell the King's ears so I can't live up to your sweet words." Yet she smiled, nonetheless.  
Theoden changed the subject, "I have arranged for the wedding ceremony to be held tomorrow morn." Elentari's head jerked up from the runes she had been studying on the floor. "I know it is soon, but I trust, since a similar event has already been held in Gondor, it will be nothing but a formality."  
Elentari felt the blood rising to her face as Theodred replied, "We did nothing but pledge our troth. Denethor saw to it as a betrothal ceremony, not an actual marriage. And we," he hesitated for a moment, color rising to his pale face, "We have not, we have not," he stuttered, as if trying to find the proper wording, "gone through with the usual proceedings of a newly-wedded couple." He glanced at Elentari, who was determinedly ignoring the heat emitting from her face.  
It took Theoden a little thought to finally understand what his son was getting to, but a little "Oh!" seemed to signify his understanding.  
"Well, it is still arranged for tomorrow morn, and the people are expecting it, with representatives coming from as far as Snowbourne to witness it. I trust it will be enough time for you," Theodred looked Elentari questioningly, who nodded.  
  
Elentari's chambers for that night were located near Eowyn's, but Theoden had told her that she would be moved once her and Theodred were officially wedded. She settled on the sheepskin bed, missing her silken one in Minas Tirith, but glad to finally be able to sleep in a bed, not a tent in the wilderness, she felt her eyes slowly close, as sweet sleep sealed them, forgetting the events the next dawn would bring.  
  
She was awoken by excited pounding on her door, followed by Eowyn flying in through the door, flanked by two maids.  
"Do Gondorians always sleep in this late?" Eowyn questioned, as she drew back the curtains, letting in the blinding morning light.  
Elentari groaned, shielding her sensitive eyes from the intrusive light, "What time is it?"  
"Quarter till ten in the morning," Eowyn replied, "Little more than an hour from the ceremony!"  
"Ceremony?" Elentari was confused.  
The maids looked scandalized, and one of them said, "Your wedding ceremony, my Lady!" Elentari groaned, as she forced herself out of bed, but it was more for the maid's words that brought everything into reality.  
"Please, my Lady," the other begged, "The whole town will be watching, not to mention lords from other regions. We need to get your dressed and readied!" Elentari wanted to dismiss them, but knew that they were only pressing in goodwill. She hurriedly fetched her gown, the same white, silken one she had last worn in Gondor at the other ceremony, from her trunk. The maids quickly snatched it out of her hands, and began pressing it, banishing the wrinkles from the long trip.  
As she readied herself, adjusting the long, laced white head shawl over her head, fixing it in place with the Elven headdress Denethor had gifted to her, letting the white gems sparkle in her dark tresses, she noticed Eowyn regarding her carefully.  
Deciding to press the matter, she questioned teasingly, "So have you found anything interesting about me yet?"  
The young girl was startled suddenly, and after regaining her sense, mumbled, "Why do you ask that, my Lady?"  
She laughed at the girl's uncertainty, "I see things too, Eowyn, and I see you regarding me closely, as if you are fascinated, or just curious." Eowyn nodded, and Elentari went on, "And please, I beg you, please don't address me as 'my Lady'. My mother gave me a name at birth, which is about all she did, for a reason. Call me Elentari, please."  
At the mention of a mother, Eowyn's lively eyes dimmed a bit, and Elentari wondered why, for she had not heard the tale of Theodwyn.  
"Where is your mother?" she broached, rather foolishly.  
The young girl quickly closed up, the speed of which startled Elentari and reminded her so much of Denethor, it sent shivers up her spine. After a bit of awkward silence, Eowyn curtseyed, and said, without looking at Elentari, "I must go see how the preparations are. They will come for you soon."  
  
Elentari and Theodred were officially married, with the sun shining down upon them, with the people of Edoras, Dunharrow, Snowbourne, the Westfold, and all over the land watching joyously, as their beloved prince finally took a wife. No one seemed to care, not even Theodred, how this foreign bride was feeling at the moment. She felt like a possession, bartered for and bought from Denethor for a price, forming an alliance, strengthening the Oath of Eorl, with no regard to her own personal feelings or thoughts at all. Theodred claimed he loved her, but he saw naught into her heart.  
  
A/N: More angst? More introspection? More Faramir? Tell me what you think! The description of Meduseld is straight out of the Two Towers book, pg 123, King of the Golden Hall, if you wish to check, though I added a little bit of feeling to make it personal to the story. Review! 


	31. Far From Home

A/N: Okay this chapter is the beginning of the end of this escapade that all you have been so kind to stick with me through. Not too much longer! But then again, I said that 10 chapters ago, so you never know what might strike me suddenly... There is Faramir in this chapter, thought not too much of him. I know, I know! I'm sorry! You have no idea how much I want to write about him, but that would extend the story even longer, with a bunch of introspection chapters about him.  
  
Thanks to Nymredil! For her hobbitish insight! (That's a compliment.) Wait that was for another poem but if you read this, thanks! Ah, come on people! Please review! It seems that everyone's either on vacation, or has abandoned my story. I would like to think it is the former. Thanks to Susan, as always, for her well-rounded critique and loyalty!  
  
Welcome Lollipop-CaZ and Shallindra! Don't worry, Boromir is kept perfectly safe in this story, though not in Tolkien's... ( Thanks for stopping by Vane Alasse, anticipannation!  
  
Chapter 31: Far from home  
  
Many months had passed since he had last seen her, but night after night, his dreams were filled with her image, her scent flitting across the room, and he could hear her footsteps in the stone halls, and her voice, but when he strained his ears to listen again, there was no trace.  
Yet on this winter afternoon, so distant from the clear spring morning he last saw her, he awoke with a start from a doze, perspiration soaking his pillow, beads trickling down his forehead, as the scream still rang in his ears. It was a scream of anguish, of inhumane pain, unprecedented grief. He looked around, straining his ears for some sign, but the guards he saw around seemed undisturbed, still chatting amongst themselves, unaware of any pain.  
Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, he shook his head; trying to clear out, to recall the memory, distinguish it from reality. Had it just been a bad dream? It had been blood curling, almost rival to the piercing shrieks of the Nazgul, though it induced not the terrifying fear they did. It was the scream of someone who had lost something dear, who had nothing left to live for. He had only heard such a scream of anguish, of despair, once before, when, returning from a catastrophe at Henneth Annun, he had personally carried the grievous news to an old widow, that her only son had been killed. The aged woman had torn at her hair, uttered that piercing shriek that haunted the City, and sank to her knees, grabbing the hem of his robes desperately, sobbing piteously, until she fell into a faint. After ensuring that she was taken care of, he left, though the sound haunted him for many days. Elentari had comforted him though, sensing his trouble, and soon, it drifted to a place in the back of his mind.  
What plagued him now was that he could have sworn that the scream had been issued from her mouth; that she was hurt, screaming like a wounded animal near death. What had happened? Had he just dreamt it out of his paranoia? The mere thought of her in pain made him want to jump on his horse and ride to Edoras, to the house of the thieves, and pluck her from her despair, to hold her in his arms. Yes, they were thieves. It did not matter to him that Rohan was their ally; that Eorl the Young had come, when all hope seemed lost, to Gondor's aid. Nothing mattered except that one of the Rohirrim, their prince, had stolen his Elentari from him. Now he was certain she was in pain, unprecedented pain, and the mere thought that one of the Rohirrim may have caused it, made his blood broil.  
  
Accompanied by Eowyn, Elentari had made her way to the stables, all the way giggling and chattering with the young girl she now called sister, both in courtesy and in her heart. Eowyn was attached to her older sister, her cousin's wife, and admired her, for Elentari was everything Eowyn felt a woman should be. She had grown up in a house of men, and knew nothing of the behavior and delicacies of a lady, and from Elentari, she tried to learn. She was loving and gentle, though lethal with a sword, which Eowyn had fought with many a time, and she performed the many wifely duties with ease, though Eowyn could sense a trace of reluctance in the way her needle went through the richly woven fabrics, how she scrubbed Theodred's dirty clothes. Yet behind every smile, every song, there seemed a shadow of sorrow that no one knew of, that she tried desperately to evade, to conceal, as if her every move was to thwart despair.  
A great feast had been held the night of the wedding, to celebrate both their homecoming, and the marriage. Theodred had been congratulated repeatedly, on his finding of such a lovely, young wife, who seemed skill in every area; even in some she should not be, such as swordsmanship. No one seemed to care what she thought however, and the women watched her warily, some with their lips pursed, as if trying to find some fault in her, something to discredit her.  
After all the men had downed a sufficient amount of ale, Theodred took her hand, and began spinning her around the floor, to the music. The minstrels played lively music, which lightened even her spirits in that dark hour, though she still felt their craft was nothing compared to the Gondorian ones she had played with.  
Finally, a slow ballad, with a somewhat mournful air was struck up, and an old bard, who had been sitting behind the minstrels the entire night, yet held in reverence by them, stood to sing:  
Child walks down to the river's edge  
And looks out as far as she can see  
And draws each breath as if it were the last  
And wipes away the tears across her sleeve  
  
Theodred was quite unpleased by the revered bard's display. How could he sing such a song of loneliness and despair on such a joyous occasion? Yet he knew better and respected this old bard too much to say anything, and let the song go on. Besides, as he looked over to his new wife, he was pleased to see her fascinated, her eyes riveted on this old bard, weaving his craft. He knew how much she loved the art of song and music, and made a mental note to introduce the two, knowing the elderly man would delight in the lore and voice of the young maiden.  
  
She can see where the river crawls to the sea.  
Like a baby into mother's care  
Somehow the longing is so far away  
The innocence so wasted and aware  
And look at the child with the dream in her eyes  
Holding it deep inside her  
Thinking about Home... Home...  
  
That word struck a chord in Elentari's heart—Home. Home. Home is where the heart is. Home was where Faramir was, where she wanted to be. This old bard seemed to know exactly how she was feeling, and picked the opportune moment to sing this piece.  
So much anger so deeply ingrained  
Seemed a burden that was hers alone  
She didn't think that there was anything wrong  
With wanting a life she could call her own  
  
What was wrong with having a life she could control? A life that wasn't dictated by the whims of men that cared nothing for her, or at least not enough.  
  
How could I explain? You would not want to hear  
You wouldn't listen if I talked anyway  
For you were too weighed down by your own fears  
And look at the child with the dream in her eyes  
Holding it deep inside her  
Home... Home... Home...  
Home.  
  
The tears in her eyes were unavoidable and she could not hide them, hard as she tried. Many noticed, including Eomer, who's scowl deepened even further, as Theodred slipped his hand over hers, and smiled at her tenderly, as she met his gaze.  
When all the food and ale had been consumed, all songs and dances played out, all the guests retired; Theodred took her in his arms, and led her to their chambers.  
  
He had given her pleasure as she had never known it before that night, but somehow, Elentari felt incomplete, a void that was not filled. This was what she was thinking of, as she and Eowyn headed towards the stables. Eowyn had been asking about her brothers, and she had just been telling her about the time she, Boromir, and Faramir had been riding hard on the Pelennor, racing against the very wind as they did each other.  
"Boromir and Faramir somehow, have this secret alliance. They are rivals themselves, but they will stop at nothing, including allying themselves together, to beat me. I could never figure why. I suppose it's because I am a woman, and men have to stick together to equal us." She and Eowyn giggled as she said this, and, with a sack full of apples in hand, opened the stable doors. A few stable lads welcomed them, and after greeting them, they headed, still chattering and giggling, towards their horses, who were next to each other.  
"Maybe it's just because they know you'll beat them, so they'll do anything to stop it," Eowyn suggested.  
"Maybe. I like to think that," Elentari giggled, "What about you? Do you ride with Theodred and Eomer?"  
Eowyn seemed a little crestfallen at this, "I used to. When Eomer wasn't gone all the time, with Theodred, they used to take me out, or it was just Eomer and I. They're both not home too much anymore," she finished sadly. Elentari knew her pain, for as they had gotten older, Boromir and Faramir had both joined the Rangers, and had been away from home many a time. It was true even now in Rohan, for since the several months they had been married, Theodred had been away for most of them, after ensuring that his wife was comfortable and settled in Meduseld.  
"Tell me more about Eomer," Elentari requested, as she could never quite figure out why the young man disliked her so. He never spoke a harsh word to her, but whenever she looked, his face was set in scowl towards her.  
Eowyn laughed, and said, "What about Eomer?"  
She shrugged, "How he notices things, how he sees things, his attitudes towards people?"  
"His temper?" Eowyn ventured, and then one step further, "His attitude towards you?"  
She colored, and Eowyn laughed, "Eomer has a fiery temper, as do I, though he is more brash and reckless, I should think."  
"He doesn't seem to like me very much," Elentari murmured childishly. Before Eowyn could answer, she heard a terrifying scream from the older woman, a scream of anguish, as Faramir had heard in his dreams, and felt her crumple to her knees.  
What she saw filled her with dread, as Elentari, on her knees, looked over her unmoving horse, sprawled across her stable floor.  
"No," was all Elentari could whisper, "No, Talcalina. Don't leave me. Not you too."  
Eowyn quickly sank to her knees beside her, and felt for a pulse on the horse, but it was too late; the horse was gone. As she looked upon the sobbing Elentari, cradling her beloved horse's head in her arms, stroking her mane like she had done many a day before, she felt despair creeping upon her as well, she quickly ordered a stable boy, "Fetch Halas immediately!" Then to Elentari, she said gently, "There may be some hope for Talcalina," though in her heart, she knew there was none.  
  
Perhaps the stable boy had told him, for Halas had arrived in the stables with one of the best horse breeders and healers in Edoras. They looked the horse over many times, after prying Elentari off of her, and like Eowyn, and Elentari, knew the horse was beyond them. When the healer had got to his feet after examining Talcalina, and shook his head, Elentari let out a piteous moan, and buried her face in her hands once more, her body racking with sobs. Eowyn tried to comfort her, but felt very awkward doing it, for ever since her mother's death, she had barely ever seen a woman cry, let alone anyone cry, for Theodred and Eomer would never let her see anything of the sort from them. No matter what befell some serving woman, once Eowyn entered the room, the chatter ceased, and false smiles were plastered upon all their faces. Halas went to question the stable boys about the horse's activities, and after a thorough interrogation, learned nothing of consequence. One of the stable boys had thought it too quiet in those stables, but had excused it for sleep, since it was still early morning.  
Halas shook his head, and scrunched his face in thought, "I don't understand. She was fine when we went riding two days ago. We can't find anything physically wrong with her either. Seems like she just left her life."  
Elentari choked on another sob, as she thought of their last ride. Talcalina had neighed ceaselessly and tugged on the reins, facing ever southwards, as if willing Elentari to let her take them home. Take them southwards, back home, to Gondor. Though she had been thoroughly tempted, Elentari would not relent, and literally dragged the horse back to Meduseld.  
Halas continued to speculate, "She has been eating, has she not?"  
"It's not anything like that," Elentari suddenly snapped, her voice clear, though tears were still on her face. Everyone in the stables looked at her, "It's nothing like that! You wouldn't understand," her voice was rising with every word, "Creatures of Gondor do not belong in Rohan!!!"  
With that, she tore from the room, leaving a shocked Halas, a troubled Eowyn, and her loyal horse, in a far better place than this, leaving her beloved mistress, all alone, far from home.  
  
A/N: What do you think? It's all going downhill for Elentari from here, if you may have noticed. Should I have a Faramir introspection chapter next, in between all the angst (well his is going to be angst of course) and downhill despair of Elentari? I hope Elentari's last words have some lasting impact for the story. ::scroll up and look at her words:: As you may have noticed, I skipped the time to several months after their marriage. I didn't want to write a bunch of introspection filler in between that would sound redundant and repetitive about their grief. Is that okay? Review! 


	32. Words and Swords

A/N: Well I figured since I've ventured far from him, I can chance a return to our beloved Faramir! Going to Minnesota for the weekend, be back on Tuesday, so no updates this weekend. ï  
  
Thanks to Miriel Amarian, for being a great author and being understanding when everyone around is irritatingly ignorant of the beauty of Tolkien. Hunter's Jewel and/or Children of Feanor-NOW, please... Check out her work ppl! She's awesome!  
  
Nayana: Thanks for being so loyal and loving tragedy!  
  
Ah, come on people! Please review! It seems that everyone's either on vacation, or has abandoned my story. I would like to think it is the former.  
  
Thanks to Susan, as always, for her well-rounded critique and loyalty! You need to update!  
  
Review!  
  
Chapter 32: Words and swords  
  
Boromir kept squirming in his seat amongst the piles of books. What was he doing here? It was Faramir in the library, not he. Not the elder son of Denethor. He sighed as he flung one of the precious books carelessly off his lap. He couldn't be here. He needed to be outdoors, with his sword, his steed, or with his bow. He couldn't stand another minute indoors with these stifling books. How did Faramir manage it?  
  
Yet where was Faramir? Boromir had been sent to the library to find a particular manuscript for Denethor, who had been unable to find Faramir all morning. He had sighed and reluctantly accepted the task, and his father had smiled at his hesitant resignation. Unable to find the said manuscript, he threw the books away disgusted, and after assigning an archivist with what he felt was a daunting task, he hastily strided outside, into the comforting sunshine.  
  
As he strode through the courtyards, heading towards the archery butts, from around the corner, a grey blur suddenly leapt out from above. Dodging a blow, Boromir instinctively whipped out his sword, and faced his sudden attacker.  
  
Though the assailant's face was half hidden by the hood of his cloak, Boromir would recognize that stance, the way his shoulders drew back, his sword at the ready, his head held high, even the little, hesitant tremble of his fingers whenever he faced Boromir, from any distance. It was Faramir.  
  
"Touché, little brother," he mock bowed, "You almost caught me off guard."  
  
"Save your sweet talk for later," Faramir cut him off.  
  
"If it be your will," knowing that his little brother hated his mock courtesy. After making another little bow, Boromir braced himself for Faramir's coming offense. Even the ever-confident Boromir was taken aback by the ferocity of Faramir's attack. Usually, after a few blows, Boromir would take advantage of a slight lapse of Faramir's to take the offensive, which spent the rest of his little brother's energy sparring his fierce blows, but not today. Faramir seemed relentless, one blow after another that made Boromir almost dizzy after a while from sparring and blocking.  
  
"How now, little brother?" Boromir found the breath to venture a question, after Faramir yielded for a few seconds, being dealt a hard blow by his older brother.  
  
"Waste not the breath on speech when it may come of use in battle," Faramir practically snarled.  
  
Boromir was startled. He had never heard Faramir with such a ferocious, even malicious tone, and as they fought, he could swear he saw the glitter of tears in his younger brother's eyes.  
  
He was tempted to call a truce, after minutes of hard fighting that led to no one with the upper hand, and Faramir grew wearier, yet more determined with each passing moment, and when the younger son of Denethor cornered his brother, and pressed him with his blade, and growled, "Do you yield?" Boromir's own obstinate, competitive spirit set in, and, forcing all his weight and strength at his weaker brother, he pushed back, and roared, "Never!"  
  
Usually during any battle, be it practice, for fun, or real, Boromir was focused on nothing else but the elegant yet lethal movement of his sword and that of his opponent. It seemed to him that everything else in the world, all the troubles and grievances, fell away, and there was nothing but he and his opponent, exchanging blows. It was that which made him delight in arms and war, for it put him into another world, and the exhilaration of coming out of battle unscathed was something he triumphed in.  
  
Yet in this fight, his eyes darted whenever they could, to his younger brother's face. The hood had fallen away during the heat of the battle, and Faramir had lowered his proud, raised head to hide the real reason for his vehemence—his sorrow. His eyes filled with tears as they fought, and he tried to shake them off, or swallow them; ashamed at his weakness, which made him burn to prove himself even more.  
  
Finally, with sweat pouring down both their faces, Faramir moved back after hitting Boromir ferociously, with both his sword and eyes downcast. Boromir barely managed to stifle a relieved sigh, and held his weapon down.  
  
Seeing no word or action from his little brother, Boromir pried, "How now, little brother?" He sheathed his sword, confident that Faramir would not attack him again.  
  
Saying nothing, Faramir merely flung his sword aside, not caring where it landed, turned and walked away from his brother. Boromir stood perplexed, not knowing what to do, and what was ailing his brother, but he did not need to chase after him, for after a few steps, Faramir turned around, and started yelling.  
  
"It's been months! Months! There hasn't been a word from her! Not even a single letter or message asking how we are faring!"  
  
Even Boromir, at his thickest, knew exactly what his brother was raving about.  
  
"It's like she's completely forgotten us. They sent a messenger boy riding over here to announce that they were officially married. Well thank you for the news," he continued to spit out.  
  
"Faramir," Boromir whispered softly, "She's written."  
  
"What?" Faramir wheeled onto him, his eyes boring into his.  
  
"She wrote, to me, at least, twice. I was in Osgiliath when I received them."  
  
"Why did you never mention them to me?" Faramir's voice was in a deadly whisper, one Boromir had heard all too often from their father. If only Faramir could hear himself now, Boromir mused.  
  
"I thought you knew," Boromir replied, and it was the truth, "I didn't know she hadn't written you."  
  
Faramir looked, for a moment, like he was about to burst into a fit of rage, but shook his head sadly, and then asked, "How is she? What did she say? How is Rohan suiting her?"  
  
Boromir couldn't help but smiling, seeing Faramir's love and concern for her override his anger at her silence, "She says it's not Gondor, but the grasslands are beautiful, nothing like the Sea, but gives her room to ride. She misses us, especially you, and asked how you were."  
  
"Why didn't she just write me and ask me herself?" Faramir gritted his teeth.  
  
Boromir shook his head, "I do not pretend to know the mysteries of a woman's heart, little brother. Maybe she is afraid, afraid of what you will say to her, or what you might think."  
  
"Think about what?" Faramir could not contain his anger, spurred on by his confusion.  
  
Boromir shrugged, "Her being a married woman and not the pure, young girl you knew her to be." He saw that his brother visibly grimaced at these words, and threw him an inquiring look.  
  
"I can't stand it," Faramir answered, "I can't bear think of it. It makes my blood boil to envision the two of them together, her, waiting every day for him to ride in, singing songs for him, supping every night alongside him." He hesitated for a moment before continuing in a lowered voice, "I can't stand that he leads her to their chambers every night, watches her venture into her dreams, brushes his fingers against her soft skin, caressing her with his lips, and that he, he explores her, knows her every curve and crevasse." His voice faltered.  
  
Boromir nodded understandingly, and placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. He did not know exactly what to say, and he knew that his brother's grief was not something his words, or even presence, could quell. Only one could do that, and she was leagues north, three days, as the Nazgul flies.  
  
"Maybe," he ventured, "Maybe we could visit her. We could ask Father for leave."  
  
Faramir laughed cynically, "Father would never grant it, at least not for me." Boromir nodded, knowing the blatant truth to Faramir's words. Yet a part of him mused that Denethor just might grant Faramir permission, just to torment his younger son with the sight of his love married and settled, with another man. Faramir's voice broke through his thoughts, "And I couldn't stand to see it. I would love to see her, but in the bed and hall of another man, belonging to him; I would go mad, worse than I am now."  
  
"Faramir," Boromir prepared for a long speech, "You love her, and you know she loves you. To be able to love and be loved in return like that is something any man would envy you for. You are not together, you cannot see her, that is a misfortune the Valar have decreed, and I know there must be a reason to it, however cruel it may sound. But know that they reward those that are true, those that will wait, and you and Elentari will be together one day. But for now, it does not do to dwell on dreams, Faramir, and forget to live."  
  
Faramir was quiet for a while, absorbing his brother's words, and then, a grin that Boromir had not seen in months alighted his face, "Did you read that somewhere?"  
  
Boromir managed to look positively affronted, squaring up his chest, "I do not know what you mean! That all came from my mind and heart, little brother."  
  
"Boromir the brave has a mind?" Faramir looked scandalized.  
  
Boromir unsheathed his sword again, "It may not rival yours, but in times like these, that try men's souls, this that I hold in my hand, is what decides."  
  
For the rest of the afternoon, the clang of swords and the good-natured laughter of brothers resonated from the courtyard of the Citadel of Minas Tirith.  
  
Boromir's wise words ringing in his ears, Faramir stood by his open window, gazing up at her namesake-the moon. Tilion was only at his half this night, and Faramir wondered, rather foolishly, for a moment, if his other half was shining down at Rohan, but then realized, in his good sense, that the same moon shines down on both lands. It comforted him a little, that she was gazing at the same moon and stars as he, and brought a song to his lips.  
  
I remember the nights I watched you as you lay sleeping  
  
Your body gripped by some far away dream  
  
Well I was so scared and so in love then  
  
And so lost in all of you that I had seen  
  
But no one ever talked in the darkness  
  
No voice ever added fuel to the fire  
  
No light ever shone in the doorway  
  
Deep in the hollow of earthly desires  
  
But if in some dream there was brightness  
  
If in some memory some sort of sign  
  
And flesh be revived in the shadows  
  
Blessed our bodies would lay so entwined  
  
And I will not, oh, I will not forget you  
  
Nor will I ever let you go  
  
I will not, oh, I will not forget you  
  
I remember when you left in the morning at daybreak  
  
So silent you stole from my bed  
  
To go back to the one who possesses you  
  
And I back to the life I dread  
  
So I ran like the wind to the water  
  
Please don't leave me again I cried  
  
And I threw bitter tears at the ocean  
  
But all that came back was the tide  
  
Yet I will not, oh, I will not forget you  
  
Nor will I ever let you go  
  
I will not, oh, I will not forget you  
  
I love you  
  
He blew a kiss into the billowing wind, hoping that it, along with his words, would find their way to her.  
  
A/N: Like it? Love it? Dare I say-hate it? Please not the last. I know there's a direct quote from Harry Potter in there, except I changed "Harry" to "Faramir" and the speaker from Dumbledore to Boromir. Hey! They CAN have their similarities. I'd rather not venture into that (::shudder:: Boromir and Dumbledore) but still! A slight quote from Thomas Paine's "Common Sense", "In times like these that try men's souls..." The song is "I will not forget you" by Sarah McLachlan. QuickEdit is being a beast so I apologize for any formatting issues. Review! 


	33. Illness and Loneliness

A/N: Interesting chapter. It develops Elentari and Theodred's relationship a lot more. I hope it's acceptable.

Thanks to Miriel Amarian, for being a great author and being understanding when everyone around is irritatingly ignorant of the beauty of Tolkien. Hunter's Jewel and/or Children of Feanor-NOW, please... Check out her work ppl! She's awesome!

Nayana: Thanks for being so loyal and loving tragedy!

Ah, come on people! Please review! It seems that everyone's either on vacation, or has abandoned my story. I would like to think it is the former.

Thanks to Susan, as always, for her well-rounded critique and loyalty! You need to update!

Review!

Chapter 33: Illness and Loneliness

Theodred returned to a home in disarray. Theoden was locked up with his counselors and captains all day, requiring Theodred's attendance, for scores of Orcs were running freely upon their lands, killing at will. They had not enough men to defend their borders. Theodred would not be permitted to stay at Meduseld for any longer than two days, for he was needed to defend their borders, especially at the Gap. Eomer would be moving up in position in his eored, becoming lieutenant and in charge of a small platoon.

In the household, women were rushing to and fro, some neglecting their duties, for there was no one to set them right, for a few days after the unfortunate death of her mare, Elentari had collapsed while standing outside the Golden Hall, shielding her eyes to gaze southwards, and had taken to her bed. Eowyn did not permit herself to stray from her side, unless it was to fetch something she wanted, for she had seen another woman, one as dear to her heart, waste away in this very hall, and she had no intention of renewing the experience. It was one of the few memories she held of that woman, her mother only in name. Eowyn knew that she was wounded by the death of her mare, as everyone did, but the girl sensed it was something deeper. Ever since their first meeting, Eowyn had sensed the presence of something behind the deceiving smile, in those melancholy eyes; some distant sorrow that no one could touch, nor understand.

When Theodred finally got out of the stifling council chambers of his father and councilors, he strode straight into Elentari's chambers, to find Eowyn sitting by the fireplace, half asleep, and Elentari was dozing, propped up on a pillow, with a letter on it that she was apparently reading before she fell asleep. With one look, Theodred knew it was from Gondor, and the writing upon it was messy and scrawled, so he guessed it was Boromir's, but he left it alone on her pillow, and took her hand. She looked so pale, the color drained even from her lips, and Theodred knew if he held her, she would feel lighter.

He sat there until he heard Eowyn stirring, and turned to face her.

"Theodred!" she exclaimed, rather loudly, which caused Elentari to stir a little bit, but still stayed asleep. He put a finger to his lips, and beckoned Eowyn to move outside with him.

"How is she?" he asked worriedly.

"Better," Eowyn said truthfully, but even that wasn't very good, "I've coaxed her into eating some, and this time, she actually kept it down."

"Do they know what's wrong?" Theodred was worried, for Eowyn would not meet his eyes. Not hearing an answer, he raised her chin up, so she could not look away, "Eowyn. Tell me."

"They, they say they do not know what it is. She won't eat, and when she does, most of it comes back up. She coughs frequently, and I see traces of blood that she tries to hide." Theodred could see there was something she was holding back. "That is what the doctors say. What do you think, Eowyn?"

"I think she misses home," she said flatly, "Sometimes at night, when she thinks I am asleep," ever since her infirmity, Eowyn had taken to sleeping in her room, "I hear her crying, though she tries hard not to make any sound. When she is asleep, she calls out, crying for her brothers, Boromir, but more often Faramir."

Theodred was confused, for though she evidently pined for home, she seemed to have adjusted to life in Rohan rather well, but then again, he was not home long enough to be sure.

"And what of you?" Eowyn questioned, "I know Uncle is locked away in council. How long are you staying?"

"I leave tomorrow morn," his heart was heavy, and he sighed audibly.

A shadow passed by his cousin's eyes, and she questioned, "Where will you be sent?"

"The Gap," he replied, "Orcs are most plentiful there. They run across our lands, unchecked, killing at will," there was a hateful fire in his eyes as he spoke of those foul creatures.

"When will you be home?" she sounded almost childish.

"I do not know," his eyes were grave.

Eowyn sighed, "She misses you too. Almost every day now, she asks me when you will return." Though his heart soared at this, it was also very heavy, for he felt guilty to leave his young wife alone at home so often, especially when she was clearly ailing. He looked over Eowyn's shoulder, at the door, and he heard coughing behind it. Anxiously, he pushed the door open, and strode in, Eowyn following him.

She had awoken, and was now coughing violently, her body racked by them, into her pillow, and when the fit finally subsided, and she looked up at them, he could see blood upon it, along with the letter from Gondor.

Her pallid face broke into a smile as she saw him, and he strode over, kneeled by her bedside, kissed her hand, and murmured, "My Lady."

She giggled, "I would think you were begging a favor by the way you greet me. Come now, we are not in court." Theodred turned, as he saw Eowyn shut the door as she left them. He let go of her hand, and swept her into his arms, embracing her passionately, though he was careful not to hurt her.

"I've missed you," she whispered, and it was the truth.

"I thought about you so much," he replied, "Even in battle, when Orcs were charging at me, I thought of you, and it gave me strength to move on, and at night, your face would not let me sleep."

She felt so light in his arms, even lighter than she had been in Gondor, and her skin was ashen pale, the blood drained even from her lips.

She sighed, "I wish I could be out riding with you."

He smiled, "If you do not get well, I'm afraid the healers would skin me if I allowed you to."

"What keeps you away from home longer than even Boromir? He says that Mordor has quieted a bit, though no doubt Orcs will come pouring out in even greater numbers soon," she looked towards the letter.

"Is it from him?" She nodded, and then asked wearily, "How long are you staying at home?"

He did not want to tell her, for he knew how much the news would depress her, and how hard she would work to conceal it, and how much it would tax her to do so, but he knew he must. "Tomorrow morn, I leave for the Gap." She closed her eyes and lowered her head as the words fell upon her. Then, almost to herself, she murmured sorrowfully, "Is it my Fate that all those dear to me should be kept farthest away?"

He embraced her once more, kissing her forehead, "You know I do not wish to leave you here."

"But you must," she replied, "That is what Faramir and Boromir used to tell me."

"I'm sorry," he really meant it, and she could hear the sorrow in his voice. "I never liked to stay at home, but I can't bear to leave you, especially now."

She smiled, "I'm fine Theodred. I don't know what these healers are fussing about."

He grew serious, "The fact that you cough up blood and vomit everything you eat?"

She shook her head, "I'm fine."

"Anyone can see you are not," his voice rose a bit.

"Please Theodred," she put up a hand to silence him, "Don't argue with me. I'm too tired."

He kissed her again, "I'm just worried about you," and one look at her pale face that was thinning by the day proved that he had grounds to be.

After folding the letter from Boromir neatly and placing it away, she cradled Theodred, as he rested his head in her lap, careful not to place too much weight on her, and told her of his adventures.

Her fingers were twisting his golden locks tenderly when Halas burst in, announcing that the King was coming, and before Theodred could rise, Theoden was already there.

"Pray, stay as you were," Theoden ordered, seeing the loving scene of a reunited young couple. "I've come to see how you were, Elentari, and to personally ask your permission to borrow your husband for a while. He is needed in council."

She did not hide the edge in her voice, "I would be fine, if you did not take my husband away from me so often."

Theoden's eyes were clouded, "For that I apologize most sincerely, but it cannot be helped. Come Theodred, we must discuss the best defense for the Gap." Theodred looked at her apologetically, and reluctantly got up, kissed her hand, and followed his father out.

Alone, Elentari sighed heavily, and after a coughing fit that she tried to stifle, lest Eowyn flew in fussing over her again, she took out Boromir's letter again. He had written that Faramir was furious, demanding to know why she would not write him. She would have thought it obvious. She knew that any correspondence between the two of them would not remain chaste for long, and she did not want to think what would happen if any read the letters. And besides, she was married to Theodred, she had given herself to him, she wanted and needed to stay faithful to him. She felt she owed it to him.

She missed him so much, her Faramir, and though one would think letters from him would ease her, she knew it would only add to her loneliness, her need for him. She could not say she was happy in Rohan, but content seemed to be enough. She did not love him like she did Faramir, no, that was impossible, but she could not help but liking Theodred. He loved her; that she knew, and she felt guilt gnawing at her every time he touched her, for she knew she could not return to him what he gave her.

She sighed, and looked southwards, willing her eyes to see the White City appearing out of the midst. She had hated the stone when she had lived there, but now, leagues away; she realized how much she missed it. She still abhorred the entrapment, but those entrapped with her she could not bear to live without.

She knew she was ill; anyone who saw her knew she was. She felt a great burden upon her, one that she could not shake. Whether it was loneliness, or just melancholia, she knew not, but she believed it had long planted itself in her heart. The seeds were sown in Minas Tirith, when she had felt the cold, stone walls closing in upon her, and the only place where she found comfort, other than Faramir's arms, was the Sea.

Slowly, her eyes closed, and she drifted into another world, where both the freedom of Rohan and the comforts of Gondor could exist at the same time, where both Faramir and Boromir, and Theodred and Eowyn, could live together, and the sound of the Sea was never far away.

Theodred returned from the council thoroughly drained and irritated. A counselor rising in his father's favor, Grima, had argued furiously with him, saying that his concerns were ill-based, that the Orcs could not possibly be that bold, all the while advising Theoden to ask Saruman for aid.

His scowl disappeared, replaced with a somewhat rueful smile, as he shut the door behind him, seeing his wife asleep, her face though ashen, content. He wanted to protect his people, but not at the cost of leaving her behind, alone and ill. Sighing, he threw off his coat, loosened his tunic, and sprawled out beside her. Sensing him there, she nestled closer to him, and he sighed contently; it felt so good to have her in his arms again.

A/N: Softer, more loving side to their relationship eh? Tell me what you think please!


	34. Ailments and Treatments

A/N: Interesting chapter, once again. From the reviews I received, I understand the last chapter wasn't as good as expected. Any reasons why?? Review!

This one goes out to Susan, again, for always being there when I need someone, if just to rant to about my future plans, or for suggesting ideas, or telling me what's wrong that I need to change.

Welcome Shallindra! Pity that good men have to die sometimes?? I'm just glad that Faramir didn't... at least not in battle. Poor Hector... okay now I'm getting into Trojan mood again. I'm glad you like Theodred though. I couldn't bring myself to demonize him, but I'm falling in love with him as I write. Bad!!! Gah. No one's better than Faramir... ::sigh::dreams::

Chapter 34: Ailments and treatments

Theodred awoke before daybreak, and as he looked to the east, he could just barely see the faintest trace of the Sun making its way up. Gently, he nudged Elentari, until she groaned, which he knew, meant she was awake; unhappy, but awake. She had wanted to see the sunrise, and wanted to breathe the fresh morning air, and it was the only time she could get out without nurses and healers fussing over her, and of course Eowyn, who had moved back into her room for the night, leaving the couple alone. She had made Theodred promise, after much persistent convincing that she could handle it, to wake her before daybreak, so they could witness the dawn breaking together.

"Elentari," he murmured tenderly, "Come on. You told me to wake you at this hour."

Finally, she groaned, and turned over, exposing her drowsy face, "Since when did you listen to what I told you?"

He laughed, "I keep my promises. Come. It's nearly daybreak." He rose out of bed, and after donning a coat to keep himself warm from the chill, he carried her, blankets and all, outside, to the chairs he had ordered placed there the night before. She drew her blankets around closer, and leaned against Theodred, burying her head into his chest, doing all she could to push Faramir from her mind.

He worked his fingers through her soft hair, the one part of her that had not changed; and began humming an old traditional Rohirric tune. By the time he was done, Elentari groaned, lifted her head, and said, "Please Theodred, if you do nothing else for me, promise me you won't ever sing in public."

Feigning offense, he swelled up; "See what happens when I leave you with Eowyn for too long? I happen to enjoy my melodious voice. She somehow always convinces everyone that I am absolutely horrific."

Elentari couldn't help but giggle, for he looked and sounded so much like Boromir whenever she and Faramir insulted his enlarged nose. Theodred then whispered, "I apologize that Eru did not grant me with such a beautiful voice as he did for you." She smiled again, and squeezed his hand, but her eyes were shadowed, "I do not sing much anymore."

"Why not?"

Her eyes progressed from shadowed to dim, "I find no reason for it."

With his finger, he gently lifted her chin so that she would meet his eyes, "Are you unhappy here, my love?"

She shook her head, averting her eyes once more, "I am no more unhappy here than I ever was."

"Do not lie to me," Theodred whispered, his voice was sad.

"I am not," the force in her voice unmistakable. There was a significant silence, and Theodred then asked remorsefully, "Do you wish to go back?" She knew where back was, back home, back to Faramir. Yet Theodred was so good to her, and the truth would break his heart, and so, she went back to a skill she had honed for years, answering a question, yet not really giving an answer. "I was given to you, was I not? A woman dwells where her husband does, was it not always this way?"

He sighed heavily, and then gazed out into the horizon, his eyes distant and heavy. The sun was steadily rising, casting prisms of light across the plains, splitting itself into a thousand different pats, each more beautiful than the last, turning the sky into variants of red, gold, vermilion, and azure. He had drifted into another world, but the sudden, soft notes of her song lulled him back into hers, however haunting the melody was.

I follow the night

Can't find the light

When will I begin

To live again?

One day I'll fly away

Leave all this to yesterday

What more could your love do for me?

When will love be through with me?

Why live life from dream to dream?

And dread the day when dreaming ends

One day I'll fly away

Fly, fly away

He saw her eyes close as the notes faded, as if making a silent wish, and he kissed the crown of her head, "If only I knew what to do for you."

She smiled, a rueful tinge to it, returning his kiss, "You do enough Theodred."

Elentari had fallen asleep out there, just as Anar had made her ascent to the heavens above, and after carrying her back inside, kissing her, Theodred made his way out. Striding across the Great Hall, ignoring the first servants hurrying to prepare for the morning meal, and to the quarters of the three healers assigned to attend to, and cure his wife.

It took all his lessons in etiquette to stop him from barging into their chambers, regardless if they were awake or not. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he pounded on the door.

He heard a shuffle of activity, and a voice call, "No we are not ready for our meal." Fool, he evidently thought that Theodred was a serving maid. He pounded once again.

This time, curses were muttered, but the bolt was drawn back, "I told you we do not—oh, my Lord Theodred. What brings you here so early? Is the Lady well?"

"No thanks to you," Theodred barked, striding into the chambers, with the healer scurrying after him, "You are not known to be one of the best healers in Rohan for no reason Wodyn."

The middle-aged man nervously tugged at the collar of his nightshirt, and replied, "We've tried remedies my Lord, but none to seem to have an effect. We have never seen anything like this. We—He did not finish, as Theodred, many times stronger and fiercer, grabbed the small man by the collar and pinned him against the wall. The man seemed dazed by the force exerted, and shocked, for it was the young Lord Eomer was already known for his brash impulsiveness and fiery temper, not the Prince Theodred, who was always composed and kind, even more so than his father.

"Listen to me," Theodred practically snarled, "You are not paid and kept to do nothing. I would know what is ailing my wife, and how to cure it, or you might find yourself wandering the hills with nothing."

Before the man said anything, another voice intervened, "Perhaps, my Prince, it is you who carry the answer, though you may not know it."

Theodred loosened his grip on Wodyn, and looked to the elderly man standing next to him, the most experienced of the healers, and the most revered. "What?"

"There is a possibility that we know what ails Lady Elentari, and that it may not be an ailment at all," the elderly man said calmly, "And I would be most happy to discuss it with you, my Lord, if you would release my colleague here before he needs to use his skill to heal himself, for he has much to contribute to this."

Theodred looked apologetically at Wodyn, and released his grip, and the small man hurriedly scurried away, a good distance away from Theodred.

"Continue." It was an order. "How do I carry this answer?"

"Willingly, my Lord," he seated himself, "It has been many months since you have wedded and bedded our Lady. There is talk, and significant evidence, to show that she may not be subject to some disease, but merely, carrying your seed, my Lord."

His words hit Theodred, who could not reply. Could it be that she was with child? He could not think about the prospect. She was too frail, was she not? And that did not explain the cough, nor the blood.

"Now I must ask you, my Lord," the healer went on, "Since you have not been home for a little over two months or so, to your best recollection, when was the last time you bedded the lady?" He did not even falter at that, nor did he color. He seemed indifferent, tactical about everything.

"I do not remember," he did not want to tell them. This information was too close to his heart to disclose.

The healer seemed to know that Theodred's thoughts "Come now, my Lord, to your best recollection. I know I need not remind you that this is in the Lady's best interests."

He struck a nerve, and Theodred muttered bashfully, his face coloring, "The night before I left. Less than three months ago." Now that he said it, he ached to be in her, to feel her, and he did not realize it had been so long since he had.

"Three months," the healer calculated, "Yes. That is enough time. The constant vomiting can be attributed to it as well."

The younger man whom Theodred had threatened piped up, though he was still wary of him, "And it is rumored among the washing women that the Lady has missed her courses. There was no stain on her sheets."

"It is merely a rumor," Theodred knew all too well what servants could create in their idleness.

"But it must be accounted," the older healer refuted quietly.

Wodyn spoke again, "This could also explain why she does not seem the least bit worried about her own condition. She smiles sometimes at us, while we are examining her, as if to mock us, as if she carries some secret that we do not know of."

Theodred let the words sink in. They did not know Elentari, he almost shook his head, she would not admit her illness till it carried her to her deathbed, and even then, she would hide it.

"Ask her, my Lord," the man encouraged, "Only she can tell you for certain."

She was awake when he returned, Eowyn telling her about the newest foals, though Elentari insisted that she would never ride again. She had grown up with Talcalina, and no other horse could ever carry her like the mare had. "Besides," she joked, "Why would I want a Rohirric horse?"

Her eyes alighted when she saw him standing in the doorway, "Theodred!" As her cousin and his wife embraced, Eowyn said, "She was afraid you were riding away without coming to tell her."

Elentari smiled abashed, and lowered her eyes, and Theodred grinned; "Now why would I ever do a foolish thing as that? I love you too much not to keep away for too long."

Only Eowyn saw the waver in Elentari's eyes as she heard these words, and without returning them, she kissed her husband.

Theodred mounted Brego heavily, his eored behind him, as he prepared to leave his home once more. Eowyn stood outside, bidding him farewell. He had left Elentari earlier, after a meal. He had kissed her several times, promised her that he would return to her as soon as he could, made her promise that she would try to get better, and looked at her closely, trying to catch a trace of the despair she had shown earlier, but she could hide so well.

He had held her for a long moment, not willing to let her go, but his mind wandered, "Could it really be that she carries my child? It cannot be. She does not feel any different, only lighter, and is it not true that women grow fuller and plumper during childbearing? How can I ask her? If she were, she would tell me. She would never hide something like this from me."

As he was about to order the ride, his words stuck in his throat, as the early morning sun caught in his eyes. Yet it was no mistake. Elentari, attended by a maid on either side of her, made her way slowly down the stairs of Meduseld, towards him.

Without hesitating, he leapt off Brego, and ran towards her. As she embraced him, she murmured, "I couldn't let you ride off without seeing you again." Hearing no reply from him as he breathed in the scent of her hair, she continued, "I wanted to apologize for my behavior this morning."

He shook his head, "You have naught to apologize for, my love." She felt that guilty pang once more, the same one she felt whenever he addressed her so.

"And," she added humorously, "I needed to prove to Eowyn that I can walk, so she can stop fussing over me. Can you not order her to leave my bedside?"

Theodred laughed, "I would have thought that a good thing, to have her care for you so. It is good for the both of you." He looked her over. Her clothes were looser on her. Even for his scant knowledge, he knew that it should be the opposite if what the healers said was true.

"Don't let Eowyn hear this," Elentari warned, "She'll have both of our heads." Taking her into his arms once more, he kissed her passionately, which caused the men in his company to jeer good-heartedly, and Elentari to blush fervently.

"You should go," she motioned awkwardly, "Remember, you promised to come back soon."

"And you promised to get well soon." With that, he mounted Brego, and after kissing her hand once more, rode into the horizon. Why was it that every man she cared about left her? It did not matter if they were going to Osgiliath, Henneth Anun, the Fords of Isen, the Gap of Rohan, or even Ithilien. Every single one of them, from Boromir, to Theodred, to Faramir, rode off; leaving those that loved them behind, not once looking back.

A/N: PLEASE review! And if there's something you don't quite like, please tell me why! Song from Moulin Rouge, though I altered a line slightly.


	35. Letters of Fire

A/N: I'm not very satisfied with this chapter, as I wanted to add more, but it's difficult for me to write any more without being fully decided on how exactly I want this to end. It would mean a lot if you guys could tell me what you want to see. I have two endings in mind, and I've hinted to both of them, and I think one of them is pretty obvious. So what do you want to see happen?

Help Susan!!!

Nayana: What don't you like about these last two chapters? Any specifics?

Chapter 35: Letters of Fire

Ever since Theodred's departure, Elentari had insisted on sitting beside the windows, gazing out into the plains, as if willing him to appear out of the horizon. Theodred's brief return seemed to have done her well, for she appeared to have more energy, did not sleep the day away as much, and a bit of color returned to her, though she still could not keep much down. The healers watched her with eagle sharp eyes, and examined her sheets weekly, anything for a sign that their prognosis was correct.

Less than a week after Theodred's departure, Elentari was awoken from a doze by the familiar sound of horns. She hurriedly summoned two serving maids, who helped her out of her bed, which she had been leaving at regular intervals, though not for very long, for anything other than a short walk exhausted her. It was too early for Theodred to be home, but she kept her hopes up. In the Great Hall, she met Eowyn, who was rushing out as well. She stopped when she saw Elentari, "It's good to see you up and about." It was like Eowyn not to add a title or even address her by name. She was direct, to the point, like Halas, which was something Elentari liked.

"Who is it?"

Eowyn saw the light in her eyes, and felt guilty for having to quench it, "Nay, not Theodred, but my brother, Eomer."

As Eowyn knew, the little joy she had seen in Elentari's eyes faded, and she bowed her head, "Oh."

Right on cue, Eomer appeared, removing his helmet and casting it to one of the serving lads. He looked older than his eighteen years, and as soon as he saw his sister, his furrowed brow loosened, and a grin broke over his face.

"Eowyn!" He ran towards her and swept her into his brotherly embrace.

Elentari felt that familiar wave of longing, followed by pain, come about her again, and she lowered her head. How Eowyn loved her brother, she talked about him constantly, and she could tell that Eomer loved his sister just as much. Seeing the two of them together, made her think of her own brothers: pompous, but courageous Boromir, and sweet Faramir. Iluvatar keep them from harm, she prayed.

Looking up, she caught Eomer's fiery gaze on her, and she nodded her head, "Eomer."

"My Lady," he greeted coolly, "I heard that you were ill." Eowyn looked from Eomer's cool gaze to the slightly bowed head of Elentari, nothing missing her keen eyes.

"I am a little better now," she did not meet his eyes, "Thank you for your concern."

As soon as she was gone, Eomer dropped his gaze, and Eowyn sighed, "You should give her a chance Eomer."

"Give who?" he feigned ignorance.

"You know very well who I am speaking of," Eowyn had just as fiery a temper as her brother, and it was most often released onto him, as well, "Elentari. You'll find that she's very kind."

"And come under her spell as the rest of you have?" Eomer shot back.

"Why do you not like her brother?"

"Why should I?"

Eowyn sighed, drew in a breath, willing herself to be calm, "Because she is part of our family now. Theodred loves her, I love her; why can't you? Why must you be so ornery?"

"She looks about the place disgusted, like she's lowering herself to live here. She always has that tortured, sorrowful look about her, even with Theodred. If she did not wish to come here, why did she marry him?" he spat out the words.

"It is true there is sorrow about her," Eowyn ceded, "But how would you feel if you left Rohan for Gondor?"

"I would not," Eomer replied instantly, "If she did not wish to come here, she should not have consented to marry Theodred."

"Maybe she did not have too much of a choice," Eowyn said softly, remembering the waver in Elentari's eyes the last time Theodred pledged his love for her. She shook her head. She did not understand this marriage business. She could see no good in it, except women becoming wasted and sorrowful, as her mother, and now sister did.

"What are you thinking about?" seeing the distant look within her eyes.

"Nothing," Eowyn replied, "I think you're just scared of her, Eomer."

"Scared of who? The Gondorian?" He barely ever said her name.

"You're scared that if you give her a chance, you'll love her as the rest of us do."

"You've always been a bit touched in the head Eowyn, but this is too much," he tried to keep his look of disgust, though she had struck a nerve. Eowyn made no reply, but caught the hesitation behind his brother's smile, and the look on her face clearly spelled, "Are you so sure I'm wrong?"

"I need to stop chattering here with you and get cleaned up, and report to Uncle," he dismissed himself.

Letters from Theodred had been frequent since he left, always ensuring him that he was fine, and asking about her condition. A young boy, barely her age, had arrived this morning with the latest one. Reading it had brought a smile to her face, as he wrote about the newest misadventures of the Riders, and their fireside conversations at night. He knew how much she enjoyed hearing these tales, never tiring of them, even after years of Boromir's, and kept account of all that he had time to.

The messenger boy had been instructed to wait for a reply, and he was sent to be fed, while Elentari dipped her pen in ink.

Dearest Theodred,

Did Halas really fall into the lake? Or did you accidentally lose your own balance and push him in? Tell him that I expect a full account of the incident when you return, and that if you indeed had some part in the affair, he need only tell me, and I shall deal with you.

I am feeling much better, though Eowyn still will not worry less. Eomer arrived this morning, shortly after your messenger, and I have left the two of them. The healers fawn over me every morning and night, especially at mealtimes. They insist that I eat, and watch me with piercing eyes. Eowyn insists that I have gained weight, for she says my 'clothes are tighter round my waist'. I do not believe her, for I still do not have an appetite for food, and one does not grow rounder from nothing.

I am walking every day, and yesterday Eowyn and I made our way to see her mare. I did not wish to enter the stables, so I waited outside for her to lead a few horses out. There was an adorable foal, beautiful white coat and strong legs, and he was pleading with me for more carrots. The breeder told me that I might name him if I wish to.

I think of you day and night, and I look to the day when you return to me. Best wishes to you and all your eored, especially poor Halas.

Elentari

She looked the letter over, finding no errors, and sealed it. As soon as a serving girl comes back, I shall give it to her for the messenger. She then reached under her pillow for another letter, this time from Gondor-from Faramir. She closed her eyes as she unfolded the paper and set her eyes upon the familiar writing.

He demanded to know why she had not written him, and how she was. She had not told Boromir anything about her infirmity, so she did not expect Faramir to know anything about it. In spite of herself, she brought the letter to her lips, remembering Faramir's as she kissed the parchment.

She had told Boromir to not let Faramir write her, but evidently, he had not listened, or Faramir had not told his brother. She should burn the letter, that she knew, for it blatantly declared his love for her all too many times, but every time she held the parchment over the fire, ready to cast it in, some part of her would break, and she would clutch it to her breast tenderly again.

"You know how much I love you, and I miss you more by the day. I feel you beside me every night, but when I reach out, there's nothing there. Come back to me, my Isilmë," he had written. She shook her head violently, how could she go back? She had to burn it. The letter was far from brotherly concern, which Boromir epitomized. She held it out against the fire once more, the flames shining through his flowing letters of ink, making them almost ethereal. You need only drop it Elentari, and it would be over. Just drop it. Her hand was so close to the fire that she could feel the burn of the flames. Faramir... She saw his face appear in the dancing blaze, and with a sob, she drew her hand back, and collapsed beside the fire, weeping, ashamed of her own weakness.

Love was like the fire in front of her. It's flames caught her be it her will or not, yet whether it would warm her heart, or burn it down, she could not tell.

A/N: Hopefully you liked it better than I did! The only thing I can say is we finally know what's up with Eomer!


	36. Absence

A/N: Transition chapter, and you all know how much I dislike writing these. Not enough of that lovely introspection I love doling out! Hope you like it.

Thanks to Susan and Miriel, for always being there for me when I need advice, and for reading.

Please review!

Chapter 36: Absence

A hooded figure moved silently through the dark halls of the sleeping Citadel. He crept along, casting looks back into the shadowy corners, as if afraid of someone following him, in the midst of the night. Taking a side door seldom used, he came into the open air of the White City in its dreams. His face still shadowed, he broke into a run, till he reached the stables. He crept in the door silently, seeing no stable boys at this hour, shut the door behind him, and sighed in relief, seeing no one there.

Striding over to his steed's stable, he found the horse asleep, though after sitting by him, and stroking his nose, the horse stirred.

"Ai, Cirion," he fed him the awoken horse an oat, stroking his nose and back. The horse snorted, and then nudged his master affectionately, "Are you ready to run? How would you like to see those Rohirric horses?"

After talking to his horse for a few more minutes, he went to grab the saddle. While strapping it onto Cirion's back, someone grabbed his shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing, Faramir?"

"Boromir!" he wheeled around, almost dropping the saddle, "What are you doing here?"

"I believe, my brother," Boromir's voice was level, "I asked you that first."

Faramir averted his eyes, and did not answer.

"Were you planning on taking that fine steed of yours for a nice run? All the way to Rohan?" His voice was sly, sounding like Denethor's.

Again, Faramir did not answer for a moment, but then asked, "What are you doing here?"

Boromir sighed, "If I tell you, then will you answer me truthfully?"

Faramir hesitated, but then nodded his head.

"I couldn't sleep," Boromir said simply, "The horses calm me down a bit. I didn't feel like drinking, and if I unsheathed my sword at this time, I would alarm the City. They would think there was either some grave danger, or that I was not right in the head."

"You come to the stables?" Faramir was in a bit of disbelief, "Keep that up you could be one of the Rohirrim," his eyes grew a bit angry at this mention of the Rohirrim.

"Now where are you off to? In the middle of the night?" It was Faramir's turn to look away.

After some silence, during which Faramir seemed to be making up his mind, and then straightened himself, and continued fastening the saddle onto Cirion's back, "I'm riding to Rohan, and not you, nor anyone else, can stop me."

"What?" Boromir was shocked. It was he, the elder, who was the rash one, who did things without thinking, not Faramir.

"You heard me Boromir, and I would firmly appreciate it if you would not hinder me," Faramir's voice was diplomatic and concise.

"Faramir, stay this madness!" Boromir was struggling to find words, "Father will skin you when he finds out!"

His younger brother wheeled onto him, his eyes burning with anger, "Father never approves of anything I do!" He screamed so loudly, a few neighboring horses awoke and starting neighing, "He does not approve of me anyway, so why not incur his anger on something worthwhile!"

Boromir closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, "Faramir. Please, hear me out. What do you intend to do in Rohan? They will not welcome you, unannounced, especially with all the gossip surrounding the two of you."

"All I want to do is to see her, see how she is," his voice was just above a whisper.

"Theodred will not take kindly to you visiting his wife," Boromir warned.

"What is wrong with it?" Faramir defended, "There would be nothing wrong with you visiting. Why must there be with me?"

"You know very well what the difference is," Boromir said, "I am her brother, nothing more, you, I don't know what to name you as anymore. Your eyes show that you love each other, even when she is this far, I can see it."

"I won't stay long," Faramir sounded like he was trying to convince both himself and Boromir.

"You'll break her heart if you go." Boromir knew where to hit Faramir the hardest to convince him.

Faramir did not need words to ask the question, just merely looked at his brother, who continued, "She is adjusting to life in Rohan, with her husband, yes, her husband Faramir," he repeated, seeing the anguish upon his face, "She does not need you, or even me, to turn up, and remind her of the life she left behind."

Boromir could not see the expression upon his brother's face, but from his clenched fists, he knew his words had struck home. Then, with something between a roar and a cry, Faramir kicked the bridle he had placed on the ground, and sank to his knees, which caused his horse to neigh and scamper to one side.

Sinking down on his own, Boromir comforted his little brother. "Come Faramir. She will visit us one day, when she is ready. We have a long day tomorrow, come." He felt like he was talking to Elentari, reminded of the night that sent shivers up his spine, when she had teetered at the window, gazing down upon the White City as if she wished to jump down.

"And besides," Boromir added, in a more light-hearted tone, "It's a dangerous ride from here to Edoras."

"If only they did kill me," Faramir moaned, "It would be better than this slow torture."

"Now Faramir don't say anything you don't mean," Boromir said, a pang of fear in his heart.

"What if she's forgotten me? What if she doesn't love me anymore?" he sounded so childish, but Boromir could see the earnest distress in his younger brother's eyes.

"I once heard an old wise man say, and no, I did not read it anywhere Faramir," Boromir said, "That absence does to love but wind to fire; it extinguishes the small, and inflames the great. Your love is great. Do not doubt her devotion." Faramir nodded, Boromir's words soothing him, and after drawing in a deep breath, rose up to stroke his horse, "I'm sorry I startled you Cirion. Looks like we will not take that long ride to Rohan tonight."

With Theoden's approval, Eowyn and Elentari often went out, or in Eowyn's case, rode, while Elentari rode in a litter, from her refusal to ride another horse, to a secluded grassland a safe distance away from Edoras. It was far enough from the village to escape the bustle, but not far enough for it to be dangerous and they could ride back within minutes. Of course, Theoden, especially with Eomer's insistence, before he left, sent soldiers to accompany them, but these men kept a respectful distance from the Ladies, and left them alone, unless they requested their presence.

"It's so beautiful out here," Elentari murmured, lying in the grass, the flowers curling through her spread hair. "It reminds me of Dol Amroth."

Sitting up from the tall grass, Eowyn gazed down at her friend and sister. She was still not in full health, but no one could deny her improvement throughout the last few weeks, especially since they had been coming out here. Even the healers relaxed a bit, only fawning over her at mealtimes, insisting that she eat. Her color was good, the wind flushing her cheeks, and she was steadily becoming rounder, especially about the waist.

"You speak of it often," Eowyn said, "Amroth, I mean, and always, with more endearment than of even Gondor. Your eyes light up, more than when you speak of anything, save maybe your brother. Tell me. What is it like?"

Elentari smiled at the memories, and did not fail to recognize the mention of Faramir, but made nothing of it. She knew that anyone with eyes could see her lighten when she spoke of him. "Have you ever seen the Sea, Eowyn?"

"No. We are far from the great waters," Eowyn said, "There are many rivers; the Great Anduin flows eastward, and we have numerous lakes big enough to pass for the Sea."

Elentari shook her head, still gazing upwards toward the sky; the one thing in Rohan she could see the Sea within, "It's all different there, by the Sea. The cool water washes over you, and though some find the white gulls, and all their cries quite irritating, but I find them quite soothing, and soon, you forget their cries, for the voice of the Sea, the lilting waves, the music of Lady Uinen overpowers you. Then, when you feel completely at peace by the waves, you hear them; they call to you, those that came before, from across the Sundering Sea."

Eowyn sighed, "I would like to see it, though I believe I would still find the grasslands of Rohan more preferable. At least, for riding."

"Rohan is the best for riding," Elentari ceded, "No wonder it is the land of the Horse-lords."

"And ladies," Eowyn added sharply. Elentari smiled, "Of course. We ride better than they do."

"Except they don't wish to admit it," Eowyn adjusted. Elentari scrunched her nose together in disgust. She closed her eyes, and placed her hands over them, and began to lightly sing an old tune.

Grains of sand slip through your hands

Never ceasing time

Fold your hands in silent prayer

Eternal peace you'll find

Like two rivers flow

To the open sea

Someday we'll reunite

For all eternity

Let the rain falling on your face

Run in to your eyes

Can you see the rainbow now

Through all the stormy skies

Like two rivers flow

To the open sea

Someday we'll reunite

For all eternity

Someday we'll reunite

For all eternity

When she opened her eyes again, there was someone leaning over her. It was not Eowyn, but Theodred, smiling down at her.

"I'm dreaming," she whispered, and shut her eyes again, but felt a familiar touch on her hand.

"Life is a dream," he murmured back, as he looked into her reopened eyes, his love and desire for her shining through.

"Theodred," she whispered, stroking his face in disbelief.

"I am here, my love," he kissed her, and pulled her to him so that she lay on top of him.

Eowyn quickly crept away and ushered the soldiers a good distance away swiftly, as she heard the lustful groans of Theodred mix in with her cries of pleasure.

Theodred stayed home for more than a month this time, and seemed determined to push all the worries of the nation away, and spend all his time with his wife. She rode behind him on Brego out onto the plains, and he told her stories about the wilderness, and even some problems of the state, which she seemed very intrigued in, and began offering him solutions, while she dragged him to the library, which she wanted to expand, and they discussed Numenor and the ancient battles. Each day that she spent with him, she seemed healthier, her color improved, the coughing all but disappeared.

Two months after Theodred left, Eowyn was sprawled on Elentari's bed, flipping through a book Elentari had recommended, while Elentari was sitting at her dresser, combing through her long hair.

"Eowyn? May I ask you something?"

"Yes?" she took her eyes from the book.

"As I recall, you are thirteen." Eowyn nodded. "Have you started your courses?"

Eowyn flushed to the roots of her hair, looked away, and nodded, "This is the third time."

Elentari smiled, "I remember my first time. I was so frightened." She stopped for a moment, clearly lost in the past, "Third time? It's been three moons since I last had mine," she added softly, almost as if she was confirming something to herself.

"What?" Eowyn was astonished. She had picked up enough from the gossip of the washwomen, that when a woman missed her courses, it meant she was with child. Was Elentari? Did this explain why she had begun vomiting again? Yet only in the morning? Though this time, there was no blood, and the healers seemed less worried. She always seemed to have a curious, self-knowing smile upon her face, and Eowyn had begun to notice that she grew rounder.

Just as this possibility was rushing through her head, a sharp knock was heard at the door.

"You may enter," Elentari called.

"My Lady," the elderly healer bowed, "You requested my presence."

"Yes," Elentari turned from the mirror, "Eowyn, would you give us a few minutes in private?"

Eowyn slid off the bed, book in hand, nodded politely to the healer, and left the room. It must be true then, or at least she believed to be, if she would consult the master healer in private. There was no doubt in Eowyn's mind what they were discussing.

How thrilled Theodred will be! And of course Uncle will be. He will think the throne is secure if Theodred has an heir as well, and of course, he will be a proud grandparent. The nation will celebrate. I will be, I will be an aunt! The idea both excited and frightened Eowyn.

Elentari and the healer emerged, and Elentari found the nearest servant girl, "Find me a messenger boy, as quick as you can."

A boy a bit younger than her was fetched without delay. "Ride to Lord Theodred, and tell him that Lady Elentari wishes him home immediately. There is news he must know."

So it was true, Eowyn mused. She couldn't wait to see the reaction upon Theodred's face when he learned. There would be grand celebrations, and messengers would be dispatched to Gondor, to Dol Amroth, all over, to announce this joyous occurrence. Gondor! Her brothers must be overjoyed to hear this news. The world will rejoice with Rohan, especially when the child is born.

How blind Eowyn would prove to be.

A/N: I hope you liked it!! Nayana-better than the other two before this? Please review! The song is "Two Rivers" by Avril Lavigne. Review!


	37. Worlds

A/N: Introduction of Elfhelm and my characterization of him in this chapter. I needed a name, so I thought of him. Rather short chapter, and updates will be at longer intervals from now on, because, as you may have noticed, school has started...

UC3vz: Hopefully got the abbreviation of the name right. Haven't heard from you in a while, and I'm glad your back!

Thanks for reviewing! Keep up the great feedback!

Chapter 36: Worlds

The messenger had not gone for three days when Theodred, eored and all, came rushing through the gates of Edoras. Theoden King met him at the steps, looking thoroughly bewildered, "Theodred. How come you here?"

"Elentari sent for me. She said there was urgent news. I thought it something grave, so I rushed here," Theodred explained, equally bewildered.

Theoden frowned, "She has not told me of anything, but mayhap she will explain." Just then, Elentari ran out of the heavy doors, trailed by Eowyn, and flew into his arms.

"Theodred! You have come!" she cried.

"You sent for me, love?" He stroked her face tenderly, while Theoden and Eowyn looked on.

"Yes," she replied, "I hope it was not too much of an inconvenience."

"Of course not, my love," he assured her, his eyes not leaving her face, "The boy said you had news."

She nodded, "Yes. Let us discuss it within our chambers."

Theoden cleared his throat significantly, "I did not hear of any such news, Elentari."

She bowed her head, "Forgive me, my Lord, but I felt Theodred should be informed first. You will learn of it soon enough."

Theoden did not approve of this bit of disrespect, but allowed the couple to take their leave.

"What is it Elentari?" Theodred questioned, concerned.

She stood at the window, thinking on how best to answer his question, though she had thought of nothing else the past few days. Finally, she took Theodred's hand, "What do you wish to name him?" She placed it on her stomach.

He showed no response, no sign of understanding at all for a moment, and then his eyes grew wide, and they questioned her in disbelief. She nodded, smiling.

"Are you sure?" he stammered, his eyes bulging out of his face.

"The first time the healers and I agree, you do not believe me?" she couldn't stop grinning at the look of disbelief on his face. He resembled a frog this particular moment.

The look of disbelief wore away, and was replaced by a dazzling grin, as he picked her up and spun her around, howling with joy all the while.

"Theodred," she giggled, "Put me down before someone mistakes those noises you're making for a Warg."

He stopped howling, but did not put her down, but drew her mouth to his for a passionate kiss. His lips soon found their way from her lips, down to her neck, and further, all the way down to her slightly swelling belly, and then back to her lips. How he had missed the taste and feel of her.

Forcing himself to pull away from her inviting lips, he murmured, "We must tell the news to Father. He will be overjoyed."

Overjoyed, was an understatement of Theoden's reaction, though some of his counselors, especially one rising rapidly in his favor, Grima, did not share his response, though of course, they tried as hard as they could to conceal it. Theoden immediately kissed and blessed Elentari, and dispatched riders to Gondor, to Dol Amroth, to the North, every possible place, and ordered a great feast in their honor to be held as soon as all the Marshals could return, including Eomer.

Gifts and letters of congratulations began pouring in, as the news reached all the corners of Endor. One by one, the eoreds began riding in, their Marshals in the lead.

"Congratulations, my Lady," Elfhelm grinned at her at the feast.

"Thank you, Marshal Elfhelm," she bowed her head, beaming back. Elfhelm reminded her of some friends she had known in Gondor, and even a hint of both Faramir and Boromir in his persona at times, and who could resist that charming grin of his?

"I know Theodred is beyond happiness," he added.

"As am I," she replied, meaning it for the first time.

"What will you name the child?"

She shrugged, "I have a few names in mind, but we have yet to discuss it, and Theodred seems to lean towards letting King Theoden name him."

"So sure, are you, that it will be a boy?" Elfhelm questioned, his grin replaced by an impish smirk."

"I can feel it," Elentari shrugged, "Does not every mother know?"

"We shall see, my Lady," he sneered good-naturedly, sweeping her a bow that reminded her so much of Boromir.

"I hope Elfhelm isn't troubling you too much," Theodred grinned, "He is known for it."

Elfhelm looked offended, though the twinkle was evident in his eyes, "I beg your pardon, my Prince."

"Finally!" She threw up her hands imploringly, barely hiding a grin, "Someone to take me away from this, this," she searched for a word, but gave up, frustrated, "I can't think of a word to describe him!"

"Elfhelm, I cannot allow you to vex my wife so," Theodred practically burst trying to keep a serious tone.

"My apologies, Prince," Elfhelm bowed once more, "But may I be as bold as to venture that it is not I who am vexing your wife, but she who is taking my good-natured concern as a tease."

Elentari snorted at this, "Good-natured concern?"

"Aye, my Lady, my good-natured concern," he repeated, which caused Elentari to push her fist into her mouth to stop her giggles.

"What are you all giggling about over here?" Eowyn piped up curiously, making her way over as she noticed the giggling threesome.

"Eowyn! Save me from this madness!" Elentari implored.

"This time she came up with a word! Madness!" Elfhelm teased sarcastically.

"Not the best word usage for a lady reputed to be so educated and refined in lore and words," Theodred added.

"Theodred!" Elentari had a hurt expression upon her face, "Are you siding with him?"

"My love, I have known Elfhelm since probably before you were born," Theodred quickly created the excuse.

"If he is so much dearer to you, then why not have him carry your child?" she spat out, a severely hurt expression on her face, though the corners of her mouth twitched to smile.

"She is right there, Theodred," Eowyn, who had been carefully listening to the conversation, remarked.

"If it were possible for me to carry a child, I certainly would not carry his," Elfhelm looked at Theodred.

Elentari sighed heavily, shaking her head, "Alas, my cruel fate."

"Elfhelm, we were supposed to be against her. Why are you now traversing alliances and helping her against me?" Theodred asked.

"For I know that behind every good man there is a great lady," Elfhelm bowed his head, "Now, if you will excuse me, I must pay my respects to some ladies myself." Theodred and Elentari watched him flit across the hall to where a group of young women gathered, and giggled to see him approach.

"How many women does he wish to charm in one night?" Elentari questioned, watching him flirt with them.

"Elfhelm flirts with every moving thing that looks anything like a woman," Theodred replied, "And they all enjoy and respond to him," he added with just enough of bitterness in his voice for Elentari to pick up.

"Yet there is no man better than my husband," she kissed him; save Faramir, rang out her mind. Immediately, another voice rang out, "Do not think of him now! You swore to push him into the past that you will not remember. You are married and carrying a child now; Faramir is no longer part of your world."

This was what she had been telling and forcing herself to believe, ever since she discovered the carriage, but as Theoden proposed a toast in honor of her and Theodred, she found her mind wandering to him, seeing him as he wielded his sword, ate in the Great Hall, and felt him kissing her. He could never not be part of her world, she knew, for he was her world.

A/N: Lovely angst and introspection you have all been craving coming your way come next chapter!! I know you've all missed it!!! Both Faramir and Elentari! Won't I have fun writing! Review!


	38. Numb

A/N: Faramir again!!! His reaction however, might surprise you... I know I really didn't delve into the emotions of the three... I feel so guilty. I was planning to have a deep introspective chapter, but this bloody school is draining my energy. I may rewrite, or expand, if I ever feel up to it. But for now, I hope this satisfies.

Unicorn: I'm not even going to attempt to abbreviate anymore!! I don't think Elentari's necessarily "forgetting him", but she knows she shouldn't, and is trying to. I always tried to portray her as the more 'mature' one in the relationship, and then she has that whole 'fulfilling duty' issue going on.

Nayana: Hope you're not disappointed!

Shallindra: GASP!! You DON'T miss Faramir?? ::cries:: NOT good!! Ah! I made Theodred too loveable... not good!! Don't worry, I won't start demonizing him all of a sudden.

Elanor-G: Welcome! I'm glad you like my story, and thanks for the kind review. So you THINK you know what happens to Theodred & Elentari, eh??? Well, o wise one, let me hear your prediction....

Roisin Dubh: I hope your alright with these reactions. Their really not how I would wish them to be though...

Thanks for reviewing! Keep up the great feedback!

Chapter 38: Numb

"My Lord! A rider of Rohan!" a Guard of the Citadel announced during the mid-day meal.

Boromir looked up warily; he knew how much his father disliked being interrupted at mealtimes, but his heart flew at sign of news from Rohan. How he missed his sister! He looked across the table to see Faramir carefully hiding his eagerness to hear the message, though he could see the hunger in his eyes.

Denethor sighed heavily, his brow furrowed, but he relented, "Let him in, since he has come through all this trouble."

The Guard bowed, and moments later, a weary, but clearly enthusiastic rider emerged into the room, bowing.

"What news from the Mark, o rider?" Denethor questioned.

"Wondrous news," the man replied, which caused all three men's heads to jerk up.

"Speak," the order was issued from Faramir's mouth, which caused a sharp look from Denethor, yet Faramir showed no reaction.

"Prince Theodred would like to announce that his wife, our Lady Elentari, is with child, carrying our next heir," the man announced proudly. Immediately, Boromir glanced at Faramir, who was staring at the man, his eyes wide, and Boromir could swear he saw the anguish flit across his face momentarily, though Faramir had become so good at hiding his emotions, just as Denethor always did. Elentari, with child? He was going to be an uncle? Boromir couldn't believe it, but he beamed all the while, for he could just see how happy his sister would be, stroking her belly, anticipating the arrival of her child. An uncle! It made him rejoice, and yet feel old at the same time. The Steward rose from his seat, a rare sign, and beckoned the man to sit at the table, which meant he would be submitted to a thorough interrogation.

"When was this discovered?" Denethor questioned.

"Around two weeks ago, and then it was announced that she was already three months," the man disclosed.

Denethor digested the information, "Theoden must be overjoyed. To have an heir to his heir, he must feel his kingdom secure."

"Yes. He was planning a grand feast before I left. The whole kingdom was invited! Flagons of ale were being transported in every day, and animals were being slaughtered," the man looked a bit resentful on having to miss it.

"Don't worry, good man," Boromir reassured, "We'll make sure you didn't miss too much of the great feast. Come, eat," and he called for a serving girl to bring the man food. Faramir had not lifted his head since the man sat down, and announced the news, preferring to stare at the table, though his clenched fists that were steadily reddening betrayed his emotions.

"How is she?" Boromir questioned.

"She took ill several months ago, and the healers could do nothing to help her, and it was said from the Golden Hall that she vomited ceaselessly, coughing blood, but it disappeared a few months ago, and then the announcement of the pregnancy came."

"Elentari always had some form of a cough," Denethor mused.

"Yet does that not remind you of her illness two years ago? When Lord Theodred first came to our city?" Boromir ventured, "Does it not, Faramir?" His brother made no reply.

"We must prepare some gift. Boromir, what have you in mind?" Denethor asked. The Steward could not stop smiling, a rare treat.

"A sword for the little boy," Boromir mused.

"Must you always wish to impale people? Even little children?" Faramir finally spoke, sounding exasperated.

"If he is a lad, he would naturally want a sword," Boromir said, "I mean, even Elentari has a sword, and she isn't a man."

Denethor, even in this happy time, could not resist an opportunity to throw in an icy comment, "Not all lounge in the library as you do, Faramir."

Boromir quickly glanced at his brother, but to his surprise, Faramir did not seem to notice, or at least did not seem to care. With reason, Boromir realized, he has more pressing matters in mind right now.

"Perhaps, gifts are not enough in this situation," Denethor mused, "As she is close kin, and we have not seen her in more than a year, it would seem more fit to send a messenger of our own."

Faramir raised his eyes at this, no emotion showing behind that façade he had learned so well to use, and only one person could see through, yet she, the cause of his mask, was not here.

Boromir expected his father to turn to him, as they had discussed visiting Elentari many times before, but instead, Denethor turned his shrewd gaze towards his younger son, "Faramir. I know you have missed Elentari, and are extraordinarily happy for her condition," he placed particular stress on this last part, "Would you like to ride to Rohan with this man to bring our greetings and well wishes to Theoden and his son, and our Elentari?"

How cruel could his father be? He knew well enough how even the thought of seeing Elentari once more tormented him, and to see her in the house of another man, married, sharing his table, life, and bed, was torturous enough, but to see her carrying that man's child? Faramir could not allow his mind to dwell on it. After a very uncomfortable moment of silence, which saw the Rohirric rider cringe in his seat, his eyes fixed upon the brothers, trying to read behind the facades, Faramir raised his eyes, and with a carefully controlled voice, said, "Father, I would like nothing better than to see Elentari once more, but I believe that the great honor must be denied to me, for Boromir deserves it more. I know Elentari would much rather see him," how those words poisoned his soul, making his hands shake as he quickly slid them beneath the table.

"I would love to go, Father, if Faramir does not mind," Boromir meant what he said, for he longed to see his little sister, and how happy she would be, and he also knew how it would kill his brother to go to Rohan and see her carrying Theodred's child, and knowing Elentari, she would spear herself if she saw Faramir in Theodred's halls, especially with her in that condition.

Denethor turned towards the rider, who had finished eating, "I'm sure you are quite spent from your long ride here. Come, rest, while we discuss what we would like to give to my daughter and her husband. Theano," he called a serving lad, "Take this man to a comfortable room."

As soon as he was gone, the Steward's diplomatic smile disappeared, and back came Denethor's sly appearance, "How now, Faramir? I would have thought you would have done anything for an opportunity to see your sister. Has time cooled your passion?" He knew which wounds to poke within his younger son.

His palms were burning red, and he could see where his fingers had dug into the soft skin, but Faramir would not allow the mask he had adopted from his father break, "You know how I feel towards Elentari, but I would think it more appropriate if Boromir went, for he is the older son, and he stands above in all other things." Boromir could catch the bitter irony within his voice.

"Or is it just that you fear that she may not receive you kindly?" Denethor aimed his words perfectly, hitting Faramir's fears, as if he could see into his son, "Do you not think, Faramir, that time and absence have changed her as well? Her passion may have quelled, if yours has not."

Faramir's skin broke, along with his temper, and with it, all thoughts of respect, "Have you ever thought of poison, my Lord?" He could not call this man Father, "It would be a much easier and faster way instead of this steady precision and planning, and it would be over all in once. Any meal, you could slip it within my cup, and you would be rid of me, for is that not what you want?" Faramir kicked aside his chair, aimed his hand at his goblet, and sent it flying; it's contents landing all over Boromir. Denethor did not even blink, as his younger son stormed out of the Hall.

The Steward merely reached over, and righted the goblet, and as if nothing had happened, said calmly to Boromir, "You shall ride to Rohan then."

Anything that stood between the Great Hall and the outside of the Citadel should be pitied, for nothing could avoid the violent foot of Faramir as he stormed out of the Citadel. What did his father think he was? He wasn't about to ride to Rohan, barge right in, and tell Theodred that his wife belonged to him instead, though the idea had occurred to him on more than one occasion. She would die before she let him do that.

His mood softened as he thought of her. With child? Carrying Rohan's next heir? Could it be? She was still a child herself! Faramir's mind raced back to the times long gone: the first time he saw her, when she was born, and her mother took her final gasps. The horror struck him. He remembered the inhuman screams and ear-piercing shrieks coming from Aunt Ariethel when she gave birth to Elentari, would that be how Elentari would feel? He couldn't stand the thought of it. He had heard old women discussing childbirth once, years ago, in the marketplace, and though he knew he shouldn't mind women's talk, he had hung around, shame-faced, listening. What he had heard there terrified him, and he realized how fortunate men were to go onto the battlefield. The women had said that girls practically had their bodies torn apart delivering the babies, and more often than not, some other infection sprung from the delivery. And then another, even more horrifying thought struck him; Aunt Ariethel had died giving birth to her daughter. Now, more than two decades later, that same daughter was speeding down that same path that all women went through, though for some it was a one-way passage.

Violently shaking his head, Faramir tried to push these thoughts out of his mind. He told himself that those were merely the tales of old women, and if all women died from childbirth, there would be no women left in Gondor. His mind ventured to Theodred—how happy he must be.

To his surprise, he did not feel the irrepressible anger he usually felt whenever he thought of Theodred with Elentari. It did not mean that he had accepted their union, nor did he cease to love her; it was merely that he could not explain how he felt. Only one word came to mind: numb. He ceased to feel. He felt that he was unfeeling, that he could not bring himself to be angry any longer, about all that happened. That was what he had been for more than a year--angry, and now he was spent. Exhausted, he dragged himself to his room, and collapsed upon his bed, the welcome numbness soothing him, until sweet sleep, who takes away all of men's troubles, if only for that short time, sealed his eyes.

A/N: Not as good as expected? Eh. Probably. I'm not very happy with it, but I do hope it's satisfactory. Please leave a note!


	39. Leaves of autumn

A/N: I got mixed reviews for the last chapter. There were four who loved it, with one saying that it was her favorite so far, and two who, like me, didn't think it was as great. Hopefully this next chapter satisfies all six of you!

These chapters are going to take a little longer to update, because of my bloody school. I'm making them a bit longer though, which hopefully will make you guys happier!

Unicorn: Thanks for the support... Bloody school!

Nayana: I'm glad you loved the last one. Hopefully this one is just as good!

Shallindra: ::shakes head:: you like Boromir more than Faramir. How dare thee! O well. He's MINE!

Elanor-G: I'm very sorry Elanor, but the child is Theodred's... Haha. I'm glad you think just like Elentari, wishing the child could be Faramir's. Don't we all? Pity this is a tragedy.

Roisin Dubh: You seriously have it in for both Grima AND Denethor. Thanks for always giving me reviews that are truthful, inspirational, and I can use for future reference.

Thanks for reviewing! Keep up the great feedback!

Chapter 39: Leaves of autumn

Elentari tossed and turned in her bed, sleep eluding her once again, as she struggled to find a comfortable-enough position for her to actually be able to relax. This baby was making it frustratingly hard to be comfortable, especially at night. Irritated, she glanced out her window, to see Lady Varda's stars accompanying Tilion in his nightly repose. Beside her, Theodred seemed not to notice, in his peaceful slumber she so desired, her unease and movement.

Eowyn had noted that she had become much more irritable in the past few days; she would not be if she was able to rest! She had finally stopped retching in the morning, but now the stomach pains were getting persistently worse. The midwives had told her it was merely a hard carriage, and that a hard carriage led to an easier delivery. The healers suggested that she walk every day, but how could she when she was tired all the time? And where was the rider who had been dispatched to Gondor? He should be back by now, and she wanted nothing better but to hear the news from her brothers, however bitter their reactions may be. Boromir, she imagined, would be overjoyed, and if he were here, would be teasing her about her expanding belly and her inability to swordfight. Theoden had forbidden her to do anything that would harm the child, and swords were definitely out of the question. Denethor--how would Denethor react? He would wish her well, of course, but no one ever knew what was behind that icy façade of the man. He would remind himself that both of his sons were unmarried, and would make it a point to change that. That thought made the image of Faramir appear so sharply in Elentari's mind she almost cried out. She buried her face in her hands. Faramir, if she had known how much loving him would hurt him, she would have died with her mother that day more than a score of years ago. She groaned aloud, not only thinking of him being tormented by Denethor about her pregnancy, but at that moment, her child gave a violent kick.

"Elentari?" she heard her husband groan beside her as he awoke, and struggled to lift himself upon his elbow.

"It is nothing," she snapped, "Go sleep," the bitterness in her voice was evident, which made him even more concerned.

"You are not sleeping," he observed, as her red eyes and the dark circles beneath them were evident.

"Is that not apparent?" she bit back dryly.

"What's wrong Elentari?" he asked, concerned.

She sighed heavily, and turned her head towards him, "Your child is not allowing his mother any rest." She laid a hand upon her belly, "And I cannot get comfortable. Any way I lay, there is always a great weight upon me. I cannot sleep," she confessed.

Tenderly, he covered her hand with his, "It can't be too horrible, for if it were, no woman would carry a child."

"Do we have a choice?" she questioned tiredly, "The women tell me it is merely a hard carriage, and that it will lead to an easier birth. I don't believe them."

He laced his fingers through hers, and brought her hand up to his lips, "Not all are like the advisors in Father's halls."

She grimaced visibly, as the baby kicked her, and gripped Theodred's hand, "Ai, little one," she whispered, "Why are you so eager to join this cruel world?"

Theodred shifted himself, and put his head on her belly, "Your time will come, my child. Let your mother rest now, so she can bring you forth."

"This is the one time I shall not be angry that he listens to his father before his mother," Elentari murmured as she settled in Theodred's arms.

"Elentari!" Eowyn flew through the door, "The rider has returned! From Gondor!"

Elentari's eyes darted up from the parchment she was writing on, and as quick as she could, with her burden, got up to follow Eowyn.

The rider was standing, in front of Theoden's chair, in the Great Hall. He bowed his head as they entered, "My Lady. I bring congratulations and good tidings from your family in Gondor."

Elentari's heart dropped, as she saw no one with the rider. What was she thinking? Denethor could not spare his sons in these times of peril. Besides, she was glad, in her mournful sense that Faramir was not here. She knew she could not handle that.

"Along with their good wishes," the rider added, "Lord Denethor saw fit to send, a very large gift, as well," his eyes left her face, darting past her.

Elentari furrowed her eyebrows, but turned around, only to be swept up in a longed for, familiar embrace.

"Boromir!!!" she screamed, Meduseld echoing her glee.

"I take it you missed me, little sister!" he breathed into her hair.

"What are you doing here, Boromir?" she finally asked, her eyes dancing.

Boromir shook his head, "That has not changed. You still ask questions to which the answers are right in front of you. I'm here to see you of course. Father and Faramir send their best, and they both wish they could be here," his eyes grew serious at the mention of Faramir, as Elentari looked away.

"How are they?" But Boromir knew that she meant, 'How is he?'

"Missing you," he put it simply, and he spoke no falsehood, "Have you forgotten your manners, Elentari?" he added, to bring Elentari back to the present, "What have we taught you all these years? Introductions, if you please," he motioned towards Eowyn, standing a ways off.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Yes. Eowyn, this is Boromir, and do not tell him anything I have told you about him. Boromir, this is Eowyn."

Boromir's eyes narrowed, "She has told you stories about me, has she?"

"Not as often as she has of Faramir," Eowyn replied. Boromir could not catch Elentari's eyes at this.

"Theodred is out at the moment, inspecting his eored, or so he told me," Elentari said, "He will be happy to see you."

"Not as happy as he will be to see his growing child," Boromir replied, grinning, "My little sister is not so small anymore, and I mean that in more than one way."

Elentari's lips turned down into a pout, but she did not answer, for Theoden had entered.

"My Lord," she bowed, "My brother is here."

"King Theoden," Boromir greeted.

"Lord Boromir," Theoden replied, his eyes scanning the valiant Gondorian, "These halls are ringing with tales of your valor, as well as you in your childhood."

Boromir threw Elentari a dirty look, "May another child's tale be written within these walls," as Elentari blushed, smiling bashfully.

"Well said," Theoden replied, "Please. Refresh and rest yourself." He called the rider to him, and then addressed Boromir once more, "I hope you can condone my absence, but there are some pressing matters at hand. I know your sister and my niece will provide you with anything you wish."

"Thank you," Boromir returned, and as soon as Theoden disappeared into his council chambers, he turned back to his sister, "So, I see I shall become an uncle soon."

Elentari flushed scarlet, and joked, "Do not give yourself the honor."

Boromir's hand flew to his heart, and he staggered back, a look of mock pain shooting across his face, "I, who practically raised you, who taught you all that you know, do not deserve being your child's uncle?"

Elentari laughed heartily, "You taught me all I know? Well my dear brother, who was the fourth ruler of Numenor?"

Boromir did not even pretend to know, "Must you?" Elentari nodded, giggling.

"What will you name the child?"

"Everyone seems to ask that question," Eowyn ventured, though she had been quiet for the past few minutes, carefully observing the brother and sister.

Elentari smiled, "Yes, and it is the one matter we have not decided upon. I have a few names in mind for him, but Theodred differs in opinion, and has it in his mind to let King Theoden name him."

"Him?" Boromir grinned, "Another valiant boy. He must come to Gondor so I can train him in the arts of war."

Eowyn's eyes flamed at this, "Think you, that Rohan does not have warriors as well?" her proud head rising as her eyes met his daringly.

Boromir raised both of his hands, as if surrendering to her, "I meant no offense, my Lady. I only meant it to Elentari as a personal jest."

"My brother does not have a way with words, Eowyn," Elentari defended gently, "Please do not take offense to anything he says." Turning back to Boromir, "I do not want my son to be like you, Boromir; delighting in arms and nothing else."

"You forget ale and wenches," Boromir pointed out, which caused Elentari to shake her head fervently, "This is when I really miss Faramir."

Boromir's eyes grew serious, though he was still grinning, "He sends his greetings and well wishes, as well." Eowyn noticed how carefully Boromir chose his words, and the effect they had on Elentari. She swallowed, trying to be inconspicuous, and then closed her eyes slowly, uttering a heavy sigh, "How is he?"

"Father wanted to send him here, but he passed the honor on to me," Boromir eyed Eowyn warily, for he knew he could not speak freely in front of her. He was just about to continue when the great doors of Meduseld clanged open, and in strode Theodred, removing his helmet from his golden head.

"Theodred!" Both Elentari and Eowyn cried out.

Throwing his helmet aside, he rushed toward his wife and sister, embracing first Elentari, then Eowyn, and then returning to his wife, kissing her.

"I see we have company," Theodred grinned, "Welcome Boromir. It is good to see you after so many seasons."

Boromir beamed, "And you. I came to congratulate you, and to check if you are treating my sister civilly."

"Has she complained?" Theodred asked, throwing a teasing glance to Elentari, who giggled.

Boromir too, glanced mischievously at his sister, "Oh yes. I've heard nothing but complaints," he put on a whining, high-pitched voice, "Theodred treats me horribly. He's a deplorable husband. Take me back to Gondor."

"Boromir!" she slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

Theodred looked shocked, and turned towards his wife, with all he could manage of a solemn glare, "You have wounded me deeply, Elentari. I have done nothing but love you, and this is what I receive in return?"

"Why is it that whenever there is another man, you always side with him against me? Last week it was Elfhelm. Now it is Boromir," Elentari pouted, her lips pressed like a little child being denied a treat.

"To see that look upon your face, love," he kissed her forehead. The couple nuzzled each other for a moment, before remembering there were others in their company.

"My Lord," Theodred looked up from his wife's face, seeing Halas there, looking quite abashed for interrupting, "The men wish to know if you will attend our meeting."

"Ah yes," Theodred did not look very happy, but nodded, "I'm coming." Turning back to Boromir, Eowyn, and Elentari, "Forgive me. My men call me. There are pressing matters at hand."

"Of course, Theodred," Elentari said, though it was in her eyes that she was sorry to see her husband go, "Greetings, Halas."

"My Lady," he bowed, "My apologies for taking Theodred away."

She smiled ruefully, "Mayhap I should ride in your eored, while you stay and tend to the house, Halas. You spend more time with Theodred than I." Only Boromir fully knew how bitter her heart was when she spat out these words.

Halas grinned, "I'm afraid Meduseld would not stand long if I ruled the house, my Lady. My mother tells me I cannot even thread a needle. Perhaps if you would teach me, my Lady, yet my mother says it is hopeless. Some other day perhaps, for we have to go now." He and Theodred bade Eowyn and Boromir farewell, and made out. Eowyn muttered some excuse, something about her sewing, which Elentari knew she hated, and skittered away.

"I need air," Elentari muttered, as she grabbed a shawl and she and Boromir went out. "The healers won't let me go anywhere without this infernal thing," she said through clenched teeth as she wrapped her shawl around her.

"You seem happy here," Boromir observed.

Elentari sighed, "Content, not happy."

"He adores you," he pointed out.

"I am fortunate to have him," she replied, her eyes trailing the falling leaves as they were swept away by the autumn breeze.

Boromir stopped walking, and turned to face her, "Do you love him?" He looked her in the eye.

She followed the fading leaves, flaunting their last moments of colorful splendor before passing away, "Yes," after some heavy thought, "I do. No woman could live with him and not learn to love him. Yet I do not love, nor will I any man, the way I love Faramir. I have not forgotten him, nor has my love for him faded. Time however, has a mysterious way about her. She has eased my passion for now, but not my longing and love for him. Yet I cannot think of him now. Theodred is too good to me, and I cannot let my child be marred by her mother's passions."

Boromir did not answer for a moment, then said, in a serious voice, "You've grown up, selernya." my sister

"How I wish I had not," she replied ruefully, "Can we rest for a moment?" she sat on the nearest bench, covered with a mass of fallen oranges, crimsons, and golden leaves.

After a moment of awkward silence, Elentari laughed, "Faramir always loved the clove of seasons. He said it was going from one thing to the next, but the period of change between is the most beautiful. I never agreed with him."

"Why?" Boromir was curious to know.

She looked pensive, "I always felt that it was the end; the end of a season, the end of life. Autumn is the fleeting last moments of life, the last dance of these leaves. There is something hauntingly sweet about them as their colors change, from the vibrant green foliage filled with life, to the fading gold, vermilion, and crimsons that they take to as their last moments of colorful splendor before passing away. Sometimes I feel people are this way as well. Many who take their leave from this world enjoy a burst of happiness, or splendor, before they are snatched away by Mandos."

There was something eerie about her words that Boromir could not quite place, and he did agree with them, though he liked Faramir's view more. He could not have known then that her words would come to haunt him.

Yet for the moment, he only said, "Listen to you, Elentari, talking about death when you carry the very essence of life within you. It's not good for the child for you to be thinking this way." He reached into his pocket, "Imrahil sends his greetings, and that one lass, Araniel, was that her name, made me bring you something." He opened his hand to reveal two perfectly shaped seashells glistening both ivory and pink in the late autumn sun.

Elentari gasped, and her eyes grew tender at the little shapes before her. She reached out a hand unsteadily, to finger one of them, until gently picking them up. Boromir never understood what she saw in these things, but added, "She told me to tell you that they carry the very sounds of the Sea within them. She made me swear to tell you that, and to instruct you to hold them to your ear."

Nodding, Elentari did so, and Boromir could never forget the look of uttermost content and bliss dawn across her face. Softly, she murmured, "Yes, I hear you, Lady Uinen."

Boromir was puzzled. He had never seen such a blissful look upon her face even when she was with Faramir, nor at any other time. Faramir said that she loved the Sea beyond all else in life, and she often sang of it, and of Lady Uinen, and Olmë, but he never knew the extent of her love.

Tenderly, she tucked the shells into her pocket, often straying her hand to them afterwards, and looked up placidly at Boromir.

"I miss them," she admitted simply as she leaned her head against his shoulder, as she had done countless times before in all those years.

"We all miss you," though Boromir knew she was speaking of the Sea more than the people. He draped his arm around her, and she snuggled close to him, and Boromir felt that things were right in the world once more, though this time, she took up more room than she usually did.

"I wish we could stay this way forever," he murmured.

She smiled, "You would miss the battle too much."

He laughed, "I would give even that up for you, little sister."

"I love you brother." Boromir never felt so content. There was a time when sitting like this, leaning against each other, the breeze whispering into their ears, was something Boromir never even thought about, but now, more than a year since he last did this, he wished they would never part.

A/N: Hope you liked it, and hoped someone caught onto the foreshadowing! Please review!


	40. Leaves in the Wind

A/N: I'm soooo SORRY this chapter has taken this long! My school is getting a bit hectic, and for the first part, I felt a bit uninspired, and when my muse came, in the form of Roisin Dubh once again, I had no time!!! My greatest apologies! I hope this chapter will be good enough for the wait! It is longer than usual though, if that'll make up for it!

Unicorn: Hope you like this chapter! Thanks for reviewing. Spring is personally my favorite season, except for my allergies. I live in southern CA, we don't know what fall is. The leaves are still green, it's still warm, and allergies are still here.

Nayana: Interesting review Nayana. What were you laughing evilly about?

Frozen world-trapped soul: Love your name. Thanks for dropping the review! Keep reading and reviewing! I love your assessment: She's gonna die! She's gonna die! Shhh!!! Must keep it quiet!! :) Welcome to my story!

Elanor-G: Aww... what did Theodred do to earn such dislike from you? He is a sweet guy! Yes I know, Faramir's STILL better! I think so too!

Roisin Dubh: Have I EVER told you you're a savior? You got me seriously going on this chapter! Thanks for always being there. I'm glad my portrayal of Elentari's love was something you can relate to.

Elvenstar: Welcome! Hope you keep reading and reviewing as well! Glad you like it so far! Thanks for the great praise.

Daughter of Elessar: Of course I haven't forgotten you! Thanks for dropping by as well! Update your story!

Thanks to everybody who reviewed! Keep up the great support! To those who read and don't review, hope your liking it and hope you'll drop in a little note sometime! I'll try to be a bit quicker with the updates!

Chapter 40

"Boromir is so happy to see you," Theodred noted, "I can't begin to imagine all your friends back in Gondor. I feel selfish for keeping you to myself."

Elentari smiled as she rinsed the towel in her husband's bath, glancing at the night sky all the while.

"Yet I would not return you to them for all the gold the Dwarves horde," he added, grinning like a little boy who has just been rewarded with a treat.

She shook her head at him, smiling all the while. How could anyone not love such a man as he? It plagued her inside, but she dismissed the thoughts that kept her awake at night, as she raised the towel to scrub his athletic shoulders.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, "You haven't spoken a word."

"I'm fine," she reassured him, "I was merely thinking."

"Lost in another one of your stories," Theodred mused, knowing that look in her eyes.

"You should try it sometime." She turned away to dry off the towel, and as she turned her face back, a warm rush of water greeted her. Wiping her face clean, she splashed him back violently.

"There really is no point in you splashing me, for I am already in the bath, and is that not the point? To be wet and clean?" Theodred loved that sulky look upon her face.

She clenched her teeth, shaking her head profusely, "What kind of an influence will you be on our son?"

"As good as you will be," he kissed her, and in one swift motion, pulled her in with him. As she settled in his arms, the warm water cascading along the two of them, he murmured contently, "Now I cannot splash you."

"You will be the death of me," she joked, "I just washed this dress."

"Now you can wash it again," he replied, shrugging.

She shook her head, "Make men do the washing and they'll never speak such words again." Yet despite her words, she pressed closer to him, wanting to feel his arms around her.

Neither of them spoke for a while, for they were both lost in their thoughts, only feeling their arms around each other, their lips mere inches away from each other, warm breath upon their face, and Elentari, their child moving within her. Soon, a tune began around her lips, and she sang so softly that Theodred could barely hear her:

The night has a thousand eyes

And the day but one;

Yet the light of the bright world dies

With the dying sun

The mind has a thousand eyes

And the heart but one;

Yet the light of a whole life dies

When love is done

Elentari knew this to be true, and she had let it take its course, letting shadow take her, for what was there to live for without Faramir? Yet he had called her back, with his gentle, innocent love, and she felt so guilty to Theodred for all that he gave her. The closer they were, the more pained she was. Every time he whispered those three words to her, the knife twisted. She owed it to him to go on, to continue in this world, though there was nothing for her, until now. Now she could not leave, for it was not only her own life she held, but that of her child, and she must continue, if only for the child. Besides, what woman does not want to raise her child, and see him grow to be tall and strong? To see the girls chasing after him, help him ride his first stallion, and teach him how to read his first book.

Theodred broke through her thoughts as he kissed her forehead lightly, "The healers will have my head for this. You are soaked, and if you catch a chill," he shuddered, not wanting to venture down that path.

"I'll be fine," she assured him, "You treat me like a crystal orb, so fragile it might shatter any moment."

"Yet unlike the crystal orb, I cannot see through you, and that is the beauty of it," he answered, his bright eyes meeting hers.

"You do not wish to see through me?" she questioned him, both with her eyes and her words.

He shook his head, "To know the future is to be trapped by it. I would have you keep your secrets until you allow me to discover them. I do not wish to know your every thought, for then there would be no mystery in the way your eyes drift away to a distant place behind my calling, and no mystifying beauty in your song."

When she looked back up at him, with alarm he noted that there were clearly tears in her eyes, "What's wrong, love?"

She shook her head wildly, "You are too good to me. Stop it!" She began crying. Theodred did not understand. Eowyn had warned that Elentari, like many other women with child, became acerbic, but Theodred did not expect her to began sobbing.

As sudden as the tears came, they vanished, as she quickly regained herself, wiping them away as if she was ashamed of them, "I'm sorry," she murmured.

He smiled, showing her that he accepted her apology, and then said, "We must get out of this bath. I'm clean enough, in my opinion, though probably not in yours, and you will catch a chill if you stay in any longer." He climbed nimbly out of the bath, and helped her out, wrapping towels around her.

"I'm beginning to believe that people in Gondor hate us Rohirrim," Theodred said, greeted by his wife's confused gaze, "I have taken away their treasure," he kissed her forehead again.

"You, Prince of Rohan, need to stop flattering me so," she smiled nonetheless.

"It is not flattery when I speak the truth," he replied.

She only shook her head at him, grinning all the while, like a mother attempting to scold an adorable little boy who has just been rowdy. After drying off, she pulled a nightgown over her head, and climbed between the sheets of their bed, her hands settling on her stomach.

He stood by the dresser, buttoning a shirt. "Why do you do that?" she asked, watching him.

He looked at her quizzically for a moment, before answering, "So I can feel you slip it off again," he finished buttoning the shirt, and joined her in the bed.

"What if I don't want to?" she asked, a flirtatious smile curling around her mouth.

Theodred laced his fingers through hers, and pulled her to him, "Then I will have to do some convincing, won't I?" She did not answer as his mouth covered hers.

Boromir stood in one of Meduseld's smaller hallways, gazing at the weaponry displayed on the walls. He had long heard tales of Eorl the Young and the heroic Horsemen from the North, and awe filled him as he gazed up at the tapestries and swords of old. He was wrapped up in his examination of one dagger that he did not hear anyone else approaching till he stood beside him. Glancing up quickly, he saw Theodred standing beside him, still rubbing his eyes from sleep.

For a moment, the two men said nothing, both lost in his own thoughts, gazing up at lost time captured within those colorful threads.

"He aided Gondor," Boromir mused. So proud was he, he could not say that Eorl saved Gondor, merely 'aided'.

"He did his duty," Theodred echoed.

"So should we all." Boromir turned towards Theodred, "I wish to thank you Theodred for bringing the light back into my sister's eyes. She is happy with you, and this visit has really set my heart at ease. We have all worried about her, being so far from us, especially Faramir, but now I shall tell them not to worry, for Elentari is loved here."

Theodred smiled, "I only hope that I can give her what she deserves."

"You love her," Boromir replied, "That is all one can ask."

"I hope it is enough," there was doubt and a trace of something dark in his voice.

Boromir sensed it, "Do not doubt yourself, Theodred. My sister will always have her sorrows and secrets," he thought of Faramir as he spoke, "Don't burden yourself on those. She is happier than I have seen her in a long time. My thanks to you."

Theodred did not answer, but a grateful smile penetrated the doubt upon his face, and Boromir added in a lighter tone, "A good husband you have proven, along with warrior. Now we shall see if you can be a good father as well."

This caused Theodred's face to break out into a wide grin, like a child awaiting a present, "I cannot wait. I hope I will be a good one," he confessed.

Boromir put his hands up, as in defense, "Don't ask me. I don't know anything about children. I'm sure Elentari will tell you what she wants you to do."

The light vanished immediately and his face grew dark once more, "Starting with staying at home with her more often."

Boromir laughed, "She used to tell me to do that too, along with Faramir. He tried to comply with her wishes, but I told her it was impossible. Men do not stay at home, even in times of peace."

"Sometimes I wish I could, but then Eowyn and Elentari tell me how lucky I am to be able to go out. It is free out there, and Eowyn begs to trade places with me. She insists that the trade 'benefits both of us'. She spends all her time with Elentari, and I spend all my time out in the Wild." He laughed bitterly, "But I do love riding on the plains."

Boromir didn't know what to say this time, merely clasped a hand on his friend's shoulder. He liked Theodred, no matter what Faramir had to say against the man, and he wanted to ease his sorrow in any way he could. Besides, Elentari seemed happier here than she ever was in Gondor, save those moments when she was with Faramir.

Theodred regained himself and asked, "When will you be leaving? Elentari was demanding last night that I imprison you in a cage so you cannot go back to Gondor."

Boromir laughed, "I've stayed here for almost a week now. I must return. I was planning to wait till she awoke and tell her, and then leave by the afternoon. I didn't want to tell her earlier. I didn't have the heart to see the look upon her face, nor listen to her begging me to stay."

"This afternoon? She'll be in a nice little rage when she hears that," Theodred grimaced, knowing he would bear the brunt of his wife's anger.

"My apologies," Boromir bowed, grinning all the while, "I take she has not awoken."

"No, I left her sleeping. She looked too peaceful, which is not what she'll be once you leave," he shuddered, "I'll go check on her now."

Boromir watched him go, and thought of all that he had to report to his brother and father once he got home. He knew he had to tell them how happy she was, no not happy; she did not use that word. Content, she had said. He worried though, that Faramir would not take the news well, and though deep down inside he would be glad she was well, it would plunge him into despair once more. He would be afraid that she had forgotten him, and Father won't help. Boromir clucked his tongue in dismay. Why must Denethor always salt Faramir's wounds? He shook his head. Now was not the time to be thinking about these matters. He had the entire ride home to do so. He only had a few more hours in this hall, with these people, with his little sister; he needed to use it well.

Theodred stood fearfully before his wife, still lying in bed. He knew that it was a horrible time to tell her news she did not want to hear, for as irritable childbearing had made Elentari from time to time, she was downright vicious when she was awoken. Yet Theodred knew he could wait no longer, for if Elentari found out from anyone else, she would be even more irritated at him for not telling her himself. With a huge swallow, he began, "Elentari?" He received a sleepy grunt in reply, "I just spoke with Boromir. She opened one eye fully to look at him, "And um, he informed me that, um," he couldn't stop stuttering, though he felt abashed at himself for doing so, "He is planning to leave by this afternoon."

It was amazing the speed of which she sat up in the bed, eyes fully open. Theodred relished in the image of her lying asleep moments before, knowing that the peace then would be gone now.

For a moment she said nothing, but it was the calm before the storm, "He's leaving? Without telling me first?" Her voice was deathly calm, something she adapted from Denethor.

"He was meaning to tell you once you awoke," Theodred tried to explain, waiting for the storm to begin.

Instead, to his astonishment, there was no shouting, but instead, Elentari let her elbows give way, and she sank back into the bed, and for a moment, he heard nothing, till her sniffing gave her silent tears away.

Moving over to the side of the bed, he kneeled down beside it, and gazed at her. She was on her side, face away from him, curled into as much of a ball as she could. Theodred recognized that stance, where she was trying to block out as much of the cruel world as possible, placing herself into another world, one that was entirely her own, and she didn't want anyone to take her out of it.

On another occasion, Theodred may have just left her that way, trusting her to come out of it soon, but these episodes had been occurring far too frequently lately, and he sensed there was something deeper than just being upset at Boromir leaving.

Gently, he touched her shoulder, "Elentari," he coaxed softly.

Nothing.

"Come on Elentari, I know that there's something more than just Boromir leaving that's causing you to act like this," he knew that if he talked long enough, she would respond, so he droned on and on about anything and everything that came to his mind. Finally, after about five minutes of going on and on, Elentari finally turned to look at him. There was no anger in her eyes, nor irritation, not even sorrow. She just **looked** at him, yet not seeing him, but through him. After staring at him for what seemed like ages to Theodred, she turned away again, though this time, uttering a huge sigh.

"You know how hard it is to deliver a child amongst strangers?" she finally spoke.

Theodred was puzzled. He had not expected such a statement and he offered the best thing he could think of, "They are not strangers. They are the best midwives and healers in the land, and they wish you well."

"They wish me well because I carry their next prince, not because they care about me in any way," she spat, and Theodred knew every word was true. He hated it when she was right, and both of them knew it, and he couldn't say a thing to comfort her.

"Eowyn will be there," he offered pathetically.

"Eowyn will not," she replied, "These sights are not for young ladies to witness. That is what they told me. Very comforting words for me to hear, aren't they?"

Theodred was at an even greater loss for words, but she went on, "And there is no one from Gondor to come either, for there are only Boromir and Faramir, and men are forbidden from the birthing chamber. Araniel is also too young just like Eowyn." Somehow, Theodred knew there was something more to her outburst, and waited.

She ranted on for a few moments, before turning to face him, with eyes wide with tears and horror, "I'm afraid Theodred. I don't know what will happen," she whispered, bursting into fresh tears.

Theodred did not, could not understand her terror, so he did the one thing he did know how to do, he held her.

One thing that always amazed Theodred about his wife was how quickly she could recover herself. He watched her as she sat there, needle in hand, chatting with Eowyn and Boromir, as if the Elentari who had sobbed in his arms like a frightened little girl was a completely different person. He did not know it was a skill she had learned and honed throughout the years of living with Denethor, and hiding her love for her 'brother' that spanned way farther than sibling affection.

He watched her smile and giggle at Boromir making a face, and could not help but smile. She was still such a child, he thought, preferring to hide from the world rather than face it at times. She wove her stories and songs around herself, hiding in them whenever there was something she could not confront. There was pride in her, something he knew was instilled in her since childhood, and she did not like to admit weakness.

"And one time, the three of us were out in the hills by the City," he heard Boromir tell Eowyn, "And I wanted to climb a tree. Faramir and I made it up high, but Elentari absolutely refused to come. She insisted that she would fall off. Faramir told her she was born to live in a tree, and dragged her up, little by little."

Elentari laughed, "He held my head up the whole time, making sure I couldn't look down."

"Yes, by the time you got up to where I was, he finally let you look down, and you practically fainted. You should have seen her. She turned as white as a sheet and almost toppled over. We had to catch her so she didn't kill herself."

"You were the ones who made me go up there in the first place," she hissed, "It's a miracle I'm alive today with all the mayhem you two put me through."

"Ah come on Elentari, you know you loved it." Boromir had a good-hearted grin upon his face.

She shook her head, and then said to Eowyn, "Fate should be less cruel to us, you and me, both growing up with two older boys."

Eowyn smiled, "They don't let me play with them anymore. Theodred is always too 'busy' and Eomer, well Eomer is just Eomer."

Elentari turned toward her husband, "Yes Theodred, you're always too 'busy'."

"My apologies, love," he bowed his head, his hand on his heart.

Eowyn snorted, "No apologies to me."

Theodred smiled apologetically, turning towards his cousin, "I'm sorry Eowyn, for forgetting you so often. I hope you will forgive me."

Eowyn looked at Boromir, "See what happens? It's always 'Elentari' or 'my love', never 'Eowyn' or 'my cousin'."

"Don't worry. It always used to be 'Faramir!' never 'Boromir!'"

Elentari glared at him, "Father always called you, not him."

"Well the love of my dear sister matters to me also," that grin never left his face.

Her eyes grew sorrowful, "Why must you leave Boromir?"

He sighed, "I belong in Gondor, Elentari. Our people need me. Besides, I think I've eaten all the food in this place since I've been here."

Theodred laughed, "Yes. I come home every day and call for food, and the maid tells me, 'my apologies, my Lord. There is no more. Lord Boromir ate it all.'"

Both the women shook their heads.

"Tell Faramir and Father that I miss them dearly, and they must ride out here someday," Elentari said, her eyes boring into Boromir, adding silently to convey her undying love to Faramir as well.

"Of course," Boromir said. The stable boy came in. "Your horse is ready, Lord Boromir." Boromir nodded and stood up, as did Eowyn, while Theodred helped his wife up.

"I have already thanked your father, but please convey my gratitude once more," Boromir told Theodred, "And thank you for your hospitality, allowing me to devour all your food, and for making my sister so happy."

Theodred nodded, "Thank you for coming, and for allowing me her company."

Boromir smiled, and looked at Eowyn, "You must write me. Every time Elentari tells you something about me, you must report to me."

Eowyn grinned, "Of course, but I'm afraid she would steal the letters before a rider could take them to you."

He shook his head, "Take good care of her."

"I'll try," Eowyn replied. She liked Boromir, though he was a little bit too happy for her tastes.

He finally reached Elentari, who had her head down, murmuring things in the speech of the High Elves to herself, "Don't cry, little sister."

"What makes you so sure I was crying?" she snapped, jerking her head up sharply, though tears were forming in her eyes.

"I was hoping my departure might instill tears in you!" Boromir was hurt once more.

"You'll never grow up Boromir," she chided, shaking her head.

"Nor do I wish to." He swept her into his bear-like embrace.

"I love you Boromir," she murmured, "You'll always be my big brother, no matter how childish you are." She paused, then added in a low whisper, "Tell him I love him. Do not let him forget me, but also do not let him linger in despair. Let him think of Nimrodel and Amroth, or Finrod Felagund and Amarië the Vanyar of old."

"If I remembered exactly who they were, I would say something wise," Boromir replied, causing her to shake her head giggling. "Let sorrow pass from your heart and let my nephew be brought into this world without difficulty."

"So I hope," there was fear in her voice. "Farewell, dearest brother. May your journey be smooth and the Valar be with you."

Boromir kissed her on the cheek, nodded at Theodred and Eowyn, and mounted his steed.

As he rode away, he turned to glance at his sister, one last time, standing alone in a hall foreign to her, clad in white, the wind seeming to go through her, and saw an ethereal beauty envelope her, something hauntingly sweet about her. Gazing upon her, her words rang in his mind.

"I always felt that it was the end; the end of a season, the end of life. Autumn is the fleeting last moments of life, the last dance of these leaves. There is something hauntingly sweet about them as their colors change, from the vibrant green foliage filled with life, to the fading gold, vermillion, and crimsons that they take to as their last moments of colorful splendor before passing away. Sometimes I feel people are this way as well. Many who take their leave from this world enjoy a burst of happiness, or splendor, before they are snatched away by Mandos."

He shuddered, the cold wind piercing through him, and he prayed to Iluvatar to watch over his sister and not let her words come back to haunt him.

A/N: There's a lovely purple button. Press it please! If anyone can think of an appropriate title for this chapter, please tell me! For the first time, I'm at a loss for words! Thanks!


	41. Yes, my Lord

A/N: This chapter is relatively long, and could've gone on longer, but I decided to cut it and give you guys something to read so I don't get mobbed! Thanks for the great support. Again, I'm having chapter naming issues, so any advice is awesome.

Unicorn: No... Haven't really witnessed the autumn, except through what the media allows my pitiful eyes to see... Yea... We are the sunshine (and smog) state. My mom dreams of Massachusetts; wants to live there. I think she's crazy. No offense. I'm glad you like my 'little boy' comparison.

Nayana: Yay! I'm glad your crazy as well. I'm not alone. Glad you love it, and thanks for being patient!

Frozen world-trapped soul: While I'm glad you love my story, it worries me when you can relate to her... But it's all good!

Elanor-G: I LOVE your review! I'm sure your messages got through to all the character, except for Eowyn of course, because NO, you absolutely CANNOT have her future husband. He's MINE!!! (my precious...)

Anon: Welcome! Nice name. Anon... I almost thought it was just plain anonymous. I'm sorry that I can't satisfy your 'happy ending' love, but I promise I'll do as much as I can to make it a good sad ending. Bring tissues.

Roisin Dubh: Your two cents are always precious, as I've told you before. I shall take that advice of yours, and it shall be 'Leaves in the Wind'.

Lady Falcon Ranger: Thanks for reading! I'm glad, in a cruel way that you'll be depressed, because my story had some effect! Don't be too sad though!!! I'm sorry!

Shallindra: Don't worry. I won't torture you with Boromir and Theodred dying TOO much.

Thanks to everybody who reviewed! Keep up the great support! To those who read and don't review, hope your liking it and hope you'll drop in a little note sometime! I'll try to be a bit quicker with the updates!

Chapter 41: Yes, my Lord

The days following Boromir's departure were taxing on Theodred. He worried about his wife, who had become more withdrawn and anxious since her brother left. An elderly midwife had told him not to worry and that it was natural for her to be anxious about the impending birth, but Theodred could not be completely dissuaded.

To cheer her up, they rode out to the prairie just south of Edoras, the same one Eowyn and Elentari had frequented. They lay in the grass, gazing at the cerulean sky as Elentari wove the wildflowers together (and through Theodred's hair) while he entertained with stories of his eored.

"We delegate tasks every night at camp," Theodred told her, "And every so often Halas and I would land the food preparation job. Halas hates it, and the men hate it when its our turn, because usually they go hungry that night, because Halas ends up burning the food."

Elentari smiled, "Blame it on him. Are you sure it is not you?"

"I can cook better than you," he defended.

"That is why I do not cook," she replied calmly. "There are some things I can do, some I excel at, and others I do not even try for I know I will ruin. I leave those to others."

"What are you putting through my hair?" she slapped his hand away as he reached up to tug at the flowers.

"You'll be a beautiful princess when I'm through."

He moaned and muttered something about women under his breath, which caused her to glare at him.

Unexpectedly, she grimaced and her hand flew to her stomach. Theodred looked at her concernedly. After a few moments, the pain subsided and her features relaxed. He questioned her with his eyes.

"It's nothing. He likes to kick a lot now," her hand still upon her stomach, "I can feel his every movement; he's like you, never staying in one position. He'll be a fighter; flailing his little fists at his mother already."

Theodred relaxed a bit and smiled. He pressed his ear gently onto her stomach and listened intently. "I can hear his heart beat."

"Less than three months now," she murmured.

"Father will want to name him," he peered at her, trying to get her approval of letting Theoden name the child.

She sighed, "You know what I think."

"It's tradition here to let the grandfather name the first child, especially if it is a boy." They'd had this discussion before, "You can name our other children."

She smiled, a slightly wan smile, "How many more do you want?"

It was then that Theodred noticed how tired his wife truly looked, and he felt a tinge of guilt because of it, and replied, "As many as you wish to bear."

Her smile was a tired one, and she nodded slowly, "Alright. I consent. Your father can name him." He tried hard not to look too triumphant, and kissed her tenderly upon the lips, slowly at first. They were still locked into each other when a voice interrupted.

"My Lord?" They both looked up to see a rider standing there, looking highly abashed for being there.

Theodred sighed heavily and tried not to glare at the man, "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt your erm," the man did not fill in the word, "Theoden King sent me to find you. He requests your presence immediately."

Theodred nodded reluctantly, and soon after the rider got onto his horse, he was helping Elentari onto Brego.

Once in Meduseld, they were greeted by Theoden sitting in his great chair, accompanied by three of his advisors, two of whom Theodred particularly disliked, among them a disfigured man by the name of Grima.

Both of them bowed to Theoden and acknowledged the counselors.

"I'm sorry we had to call you back so early," Theoden spoke slowly, as if it took great labor on his part, "It's been called to attention a conflict in Dunharrow that requires immediate attention from you and your eored Theodred."

"Is there no other force available?" Theodred asked, knowing the answer.

Instead of Theoden answering, the snake-like Grima spoke, "None that will do any significant harm to these Orcs. All the other eoreds are tied up somewhere else. Yours is the only one available, my Lord." His silk-like voice had a treacherous edge to it.

Theodred closed his eyes slowly, and squeezed Elentari's hand, which he had been holding since they entered, and slowly, his head down in resignation, he said, "When must I leave?"

"Immediately."

He nodded, "Might I request a private audience with my father?"

Theoden looked up tiredly at his son, "Of course. What is it you wish to discuss, my son?"

"Something I wish to speak to you alone."

Theoden nodded and rose, "In my quarters then."

Theodred pressed her hand again, before letting her go. She stood as a stone, her eyes downcast as he followed his father into another room, leaving her with the three counselors, circling her inconspicuously like hawks. They watched her as she stood there, lost in her own thoughts, each observing her, each calculating his best interests with this foreign lady bearing their next prince. She seemed not to see them though, her eyes either downcast or raised momentarily to dwell upon the door of Theoden's chambers. They were cloudy, filled with a faint fire, one that looked as if it could be smothered within moments, yet if that were tried, they would burn in endurance.

Inside the doors that barred her, Theodred reasoned with his father.

"Father why must I leave? I cannot believe there is no other force available."

Theoden peered at his son, "You are the Prince. If you do not do your duty, no one will."

"It is not a question of duty Father. If it were any other time I would gladly go, but I fear for Elentari."

Theoden cocked an eyebrow in concern, bidding his son to go on.

"She laments for Boromir's departure, missing her brother, as well as getting a bit homesick for Gondor. Please Father, I do not wish to leave her alone. I hear her trying to cover up her crying in the depths of the night from her fear of childbirth. She hears the stories of the midwives, and remembers that both her mother, and mine died from childbirth," his voice broke guiltily at this.

Theoden looked down at the mention of his beloved Queen Elfhild who was taken hours after Theodred's birth.

"Please Father. She needs me," he pleaded with his father, his desperation showing in his blue eyes.

His son was his only living memory of his wife, and ever since her death, all his love had been bestowed upon him, and Theoden wanted to grant his son's wish. The parental and the kingly parts of him battled fiercely, until he finally said, "Let us hear what my counselors have to say on the matter." He walked towards the door and called in the three men.

After informing them on what Theodred had pleaded on, leaving out the more personal aspects of Elentari's fears, Theoden asked the men to speak their thoughts.

Grima was the first to let his oily words flow, "It is natural, my liege that you would wish to stay with your expecting wife, but is it not your first and foremost duty to your country? As prince, all the men look to you for leadership and example, and if every man were allowed to stay home because of their family, Rohan would most certainly fall."

Theodred spoke not a word, though inside he was seething. Eomer had often voiced hate for the counselors, especially this one rising in power, and though he did not go as far as his rash cousin, at this moment, Theodred knew what Eomer meant.

The counselor went on, "Certainly, if another force were available, your wish could be granted, but at this time, there is not, and Rohan's need is dire."

Theodred watched his father's face and knew that he had lost, though his father had not officially realized it yet.

Slowly, his shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, he bowed his head in resignation, and in a toneless voice said, "I shall inform the men. We will ride out this afternoon."

He bowed to his father turgidly and left the room, leaving Theoden King with a pinched, guilty expression upon his face, though he said nothing to stop his son.

Theodred left Edoras that afternoon, like he had pledged after bidding his lady a quick farewell. She said nothing, just nodded her head after giving him a kiss to show that she understood and accepted it. He made Eowyn promise him five times to take care of Elentari before he finally mounted Brego, kissed Elentari's hand one last time, and called his eored out and away of Edoras.

Elentari said nothing, merely stared into the distance, allowing Eowyn to lead her back to her rooms, where she sat down upon the bed and continued her reading on Fëanor calmly.

As night fell upon Meduseld, Theoden sat alone in his study, still seeing his son's desperate eyes in front of him. His proud strong shoulders had slumped, his eyes lost their sheen, as he realized that he would lose the plea, and in a toneless voice had acquiesced.

Yet how had his son lost? Theoden had not voiced a word. How did his son know that he had lost? Theodred was not one to give up, but Theoden had not missed the brief, penetrating, all-knowing glance his son had flashed through him.

Frightened. He had said that she was frightened, even terrified at the prospect of childbirth. The words took him back almost three decades, Theodred's face being replaced by his beloved Elfhild. She had sat beside him in this very room, when his father Thengel was still Lord of Rohan, throwing back her golden head, and smiling at him lovingly. She had been so happy, so enthusiastic about their first child, one that she wanted desperately. Labor had come for her, and not long after Theodred had arrived, perfectly healthy and beautiful. She had been fine. She had held the swaddled baby to her chest, kissing his delicate forehead, whispering his name, as Theoden looked on lovingly, kissing his wife. Thengel had looked on proudly at his grandson from the doorway, giving his son and daughter time with their new child.

It had been perfect. They were so happy, Theoden reminisced at the happy moments that did not last. Even the healers had said she was fine. Yet a few hours later, she lay there motionless, her blue eyes passed on to her son wide open, lifeless. He did not know what had happened.

Theoden buried his face into his hands to escape the haunting memories. His son had pleaded to stay with his wife, to care for her, something Theoden felt he had not done. Yet he had not let him. He had forced his son to ride away to defend their borders. Was it right? Theodred was a Marshal, and all men of Rohan must do their duty, and there were no exceptions. When your land needs you, you must fight. Every Rohirric boy entering the army took those oaths, to lord and land, and they must fulfill them.

Yet the whole country watched Theodred and his wife, hanging on her pregnancy; they didn't do that to any other couple in the land. Is that sufficient reason that Theodred should be able to stay home? Theoden did not know. He stood up, tightening his robe, and took a side door to the veranda.

He rounded the corner to have soft singing drift to his ears. He recognized the voice after he let the melodic notes sink in.

_Only night will ever know_

_Why the heavens never show_

_All the dreams that are to know_

_Paint the sky with stars_

_Night has brought to those who sleep_

_Only dreams they cannot keep_

_I have legends in the deep_

_Paint the sky with stars_

_Who has paced the midnight sky?_

_So a spirit has to fly_

_As the heavens seem so far_

_Now who will paint the midnight star?_

_Place a name upon the night_

_One to set your heart alight_

_And to make the darkness bright_

_Paint the sky with stars._

He watched her as she drew her cloak closer around her, gazing back up at Elbereth's mystifying creations.

Then, another tune came from her lips, one he had heard as a child in Gondor, so many years ago.

A! Elbereth Githoniel!

Silivren penna miriel

O menel aglar elenath

Slowly, he felt the words return to him, and he sang softly along with her, though his voice was not fair like hers.

Githoniel, A! Elbereth!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees

The starlight on the Western Seas

She turned as the last notes faded from her lips, hearing his voice mingle with hers. As soon as she realized who it was, she tried hurriedly to rise, but he stayed her with his hand.

"My Lord," she bowed her head.

"You sing beautifully, Elentari, a trait I hope you shall pass to my grandchildren," he said as she blushed, "You shall be the nightingale of Meduseld."

She smiled gratefully, "Father used to call me little sparrow." It was one of her fond memories of Denethor, and they did not span a great number.

"He was not foolish to do so," Theoden commended, "Yet you should not be out here. The wind will pierce through your bones. You must mind your health, my Lady."

Elentari scowled, "All anybody cares about is my health anymore, not me. It's not, 'Go ahead Elentari; sit outside as Lady Elbereth's creations are your only comfort. It's always, 'Go back inside Elentari. Rest. You need your health.'" Abruptly, she realized who she was talking to, and bowed her head shamefully, "Forgive me, my Lord."

Theoden waved her apology away, and grinned, a rare treat that lessened the years upon his face, making him look like his son, "I won't tell if you won't," earning her grateful smile in return. In the year she had been here, she had never spoken to the King in this way, and this night, he was no longer Theoden King, only Theoden, a father caring for his son and his wife.

"Why are you out here, my Lord? I've never seen you here before, at least not at this hour."

"Sleep eluded me. There were too things on my mind, and I felt I needed air," he explained, "By your words I take you frequent this place at this hour."

She looked a bit abashed, "Yes," she answered softly, "When Theodred is not here."

Her words carried another statement with them, a silent accusation at Theoden for taking away her husband so much.

He took her hands in his, "I'm sorry, Elentari, but his duty is not only to you, but also to his country."

She nodded, her eyes closed in surrender, knowing that there was no other way.

"My wife used to wish that she had married a peasant instead of the Prince. That way she would actually see her husband. She used to tell me that all the time."

Elentari nodded, a knowing, rueful smile appearing upon her face, "She spoke wisely." She paused for a moment, and then went on, "Back home, Boromir and Faramir never stayed at home for long either. Boromir was always off somewhere with his company, and because he was so much older than us, Faramir and I became accustomed to it, and didn't mind, though it was a treat when he was around. It was hard though, when Faramir joined the White Company, because there was no longer anyone around. I sat around the Citadel gazing out the windows, hoping that at least one of them would ride back from Osgiliath or Ithilien."

"Osgiliath," Theoden mused, "I remember Osgiliath. It was a beautiful city, a place of light, beauty, and music."

"It will be again one day," Elentari hoped, knowing how much Boromir loved that city, "Did you spend time there before?" Theoden spoke of Gondor so fondly that she was sure he had spent time there.

"I was born in Minas Tirith, and raised there, for a time," Theoden answered, "Do not look so surprised. My father loved Gondor and was reluctant to return here after his father died. I loved it there as a child."

"I love it as well, though the waters of Dol Amroth called to me," she replied, her eyes distant as she dreamt of home.

"My mother was of Lossarnach, and often she took me to the Sea, when I was a small child. I spoke not the speech of the Rohirrim for many a year since we came, and finally my father ordered me to learn it, for he insisted that I could not be a good ruler unless I spoke the speech of the people. One day we should visit together, and you shall take me around the White City, Elentari of Minas Tirith."

The title was so endearing to her she nearly choked upon forming tears, "Yes, my Lord. Yes. We shall."

A/N: I'm having issues with naming chapters lately... Any suggestions people? Review!


	42. Feast Gone Awry

A/N: Okay, when I finally finished this chapter, this site goes into upgrade mode, so I couldn't load for TWO whole days!!! I'm SORRY!!! You're going to kill me when you finish reading, and just please remember: if I'm assassinated, I can't write more!

Thanks to everybody who reviewed! Keep up the great support, and don't kill me when this chapter's done!

Chapter 42: Feast gone awry

For Eomer's eighteenth birthday, Theoden ordered a grand feast; a feast that his son was not present at in Meduseld.

His niece and daughter-in-law however, were, and they welcomed Eomer and his eored as they entered Edoras.

The next night at the feast, they sat with Theoden and Eomer at the head of the table, along with Grimbold, the leader of Eomer's eored.

"He should be promoted, Theoden King," Grimbold was talking about Eomer, "He's been great since the beginning, but now after a year with us, he's the best in the company! He'll take my job soon if you don't promote him." Eomer glowed with pride as both Theoden and Grimbold beamed at him.

"He should join my company," Elfhelm, always grinning suggested, "I can find some challenge for him yet."

After listening to Grimbold for a while longer, Theoden stood up, causing everyone else in the room to do so also, and raised his cup, "A toast, I deem necessary. To my sister-son, Eomer, may you keep your valiance in battle and happiness find you." Everyone raised their cup to the boy, and moments later, the hall was refilled with sounds of laughter, chatter, and the consumption of ale and food.

Soon, music was sounded, and before long, the floor was filled with dancing couples, from the lowest scullery maid and her gallant stable lad, to young Lord Eomer, attempting to waltz gracefully with his sister.

A chorus emerged from a group of increasingly intoxicated riders, and though it was raucous, the tune warmed the hearts of those that heard.

Ho! Ho! Ho to the bottle I go!

To heal my heart and drown my woe

Rain may fall and wind may blow

And many miles be still to go

But under a tall tree I will lie

And let the clouds go sailing by!

Yet only one did not participate in the celebrations. Her head throbbed with an intensity she had never felt before; the mere smell of ale was rendering her nauseous, and she felt a growing pain in her stomach. It was not the repeated contractions the midwives had warned her about, so it could not be labor. It took every nuance of strength and discipline in her to keep an unpained expression upon her face, and not to collapse right then and there. Something drove Elentari to keep her mouth tightly shut, letting no one know about her pain. It was not that all the men were enjoying a well-deserved feast, nor that Eomer would be even unhappier with her, and he had never forgotten his initial dislike, if his celebration was disrupted on her behalf, but just a quiet yet intense voice within her told her not to; that it would pass.

Men came and went, passing by the lady with a respectful bow, or some of the more intoxicated ones, a rowdy grin. Elfhelm asked for a dance, which she politely denied, ensuring him that she was fine when he pressed her concernedly.

Yet as the night wore on, the men got louder and louder, and the pains increased with it, until she felt there were serpents clawing at her stomach, her back, chest, and her head throbbed with pain and heat. Finally, she could endure it no longer, and slowly, grasping the table for support, she tried to rise. Standing still, clutching onto the polished wood like a shipwrecked sailor, she felt her head shift, and the world seemed to blur for a moment. Then, she began taking steps to her chambers, but she did not get far.

It was Elfhelm who caught her, as her body arched into a graceful curve as she finally allowed an excruciating shriek to free itself. The last thing Elentari remembered was a shooting pain through her entire body, and something sticky and wet soaking her dress and her legs.

* * *

Eowyn hurried through the corridors, following the anxious and irritated midwives who had been called out of the celebration as Elfhelm yelled for help. He had immediately carried the unconscious woman with dark, fresh blood all over her pale gown that looked worse than any battle wound to her chamber. He was immediately ushered out, while the healers and midwives gushed in, all with different ideas and propositions on what had happened; all knowing that the future of Rohan depended on their actions.

Elfhelm himself, along with a few others of the fastest riders were sent to Dunharrow with all haste to fetch Theodred, and all the others, from Theoden King to the serving maids could do nothing but wait.

The midwives fawned over the unconscious form, holding smelling salts to her nose, until at last, she moaned and clutched at the now stained bed sheets. A healer cut away the lower half of the bloodied gown and propped up her legs. As midwives held cloth to her brow and spoke soothing words to her, all she did was moan weakly, unresponsive to the healer's questions.

"My Lady, where is the pain?"

No response.

"My Lady, please. Tell us so we can help you. We cannot ease your pain if we do not know what it is."

Realizing that she would be of no help, the women gathered in panicking counsel.

"It cannot be a miscarriage. It is too late," one argued.

"The blood signals one though," an older woman rebutted.

"The child is too formed by now to be delivered in blood. There must be a body. This is not miscarriage," the other women murmured in assent.

"She is too early for labor though!" the disagreeing woman exclaimed passionately, "and it does not explain the blood."

The women were quiet for a moment, till the oldest and most revered member spoke in a calm, slow voice, "Do you remember, years ago, when a woman in Edoras began bleeding in her seventh month, just like our Lady?"

Only a few nodded, and she went on, "The woman went into labor after the bleeding slowed, and delivered a few hours later."

"So you believe our lady will do such as well?"

"I have reason to believe it," the old woman said calmly.

The other women murmured for a moment, before one piped up, "But wasn't the child—she was cut off by disapproving looks from the other women. They all knew what had happened; the tale was renowned amongst the midwives of Edoras. After hours of pain and struggle, the unfortunate woman had given birth; given birth to a monster. The child was not fully developed, with unformed hands and feet, its face disfigured, and the little back curved at a grotesque angle. The midwives there had screamed in horror as it was born, its life ended before it began. None of the women wanted to think of the prospect of that happening to the Prince's child.

They gazed back at their lady, drying blood all around her, sweat upon her brow, her moans flowing through the room. "She burns," one of them said, continuing to wet her brow.

"Is there nothing we can do?" one asked as the minutes inched by.

"Wait," the elder said resolutely, "Wait and watch."

* * *

Eowyn paced agitatedly in the hall outside the birthing chamber, while her uncle, brother, and many others of Meduseld sat austerely, straining their ears for any sound beyond that forbidding door.

A midwife had reported excitedly, "It has begun! The prince is coming!" but that was hours ago. They could hear a bustle of activity behind the door, and nothing could stifle the sounds of Elentari moaning in pain. The night deepened as many began to drift away in sweet sleep, though Eowyn could not; the struggle inside filled her mind.

* * *

As the old midwife had predicted, labor had come for Elentari. Delirious from fever and pain, she barely followed the midwives' orders, she screamed when each pain hit her, gasping for air and calling for various people. They held her hand, tried to bring down the soaring fever, permeated the air with herbs and smelling salts to get rid of the stench of blood and other fluids, spoke soothing words that had no avail, and waited for the babe. The terror in her glazed eyes was unmistakable as contractions sharper than the one preceding hit her.

The hours passed by slowly for her, the interval between the pains decreased, while they, like her screams, increased in intensity. Daylight came, as the stars became veiled by the brilliance of Anar, but still there came no prince. The women passed in and out of the room for shifts, many dozing on chairs scattered around the hall. The lady showed no signs of being towards the end of her labor, and as long as she was not, they had nothing to do, except the few dedicated ones that stayed by her side, trying to make her comfortable and lowering the fever. There came no child still.

As dusk fell, the dozing heralds rushed to take up their trumpets, announcing the arrival of Prince Theodred. Ignoring the greetings of the people, he rushed into Meduseld, a fanatical fire in his eyes, leaving the best riders of Rohan struggling to keep up with him, save Elfhelm, who remained ever faithful, in pace with his friend, understanding his anxiety. He had ridden all night to Dunharrow, and found Theodred awake by the dying fire, as all the other men were enjoying the last few moments of sleep. Surprised by his arrival, Theodred instantly guessed the worst, that something had happened to his beloved wife, and to his dismay, this time Elfhelm could not reassure his friend. They had ridden without stopping, and since extracting the news from his friend, Theodred had not said a word, only furiously urging on Brego to reach Edoras.

Now, as he practically sprinted into the hall, Elfhelm closely trailing him, his eyes darted frantically from person to person, urging them to tell him the news, until a piercing, unhuman shriek came from behind the wooden door, and his eyes grew wide, fixated. Only the restraining arms of Elfhelm and the reminder of tradition kept Theodred from bursting into the chamber where his wife was in utter agony.

Elfhelm truly felt sorry for his friend of many years, sitting there, knowing how helpless he must feel. Theodred could fight Orcs, Wargs, or any foul minions of the Darkness; he was the best rider in Rohan, but he could do nothing to help his wife. Every scream and moan that came from that room pierced his heart, and at last, Theodred buried his head in his hands, unable to withstand the tension.

No matter how horrible her cries had been throughout the night, they were uncomparable to the culminating one, as the entire land of Rohan seemed to shake in martyred creation. A serving maid dropped her tray, nearly fainting at the hearing, as both Eowyn and Elfhelm tightened their grips on Theodred.

A few gasps for air, a low moan, and then—silence.

A/N: I didn't want to end it like this, but I figure, I get tortured with those cliffies all the time, why not try one for myself? (TAKE THAT SUSAN!!!) DON'T HURT ME!!! (especially Mag) Review!


	43. Apologetic Visions

A/N: I was feeling vindictive when I started this chapter, and I felt like keeping everyone waiting for longer! I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me!

Thanks to everybody who reviewed! Keep up the great support, and thanks for waiting!! I'm so sorry that it took this long, and I promise that the next chapter, which will go back to the action, will not take this long. I had a bunch of work, and then went to China, and it's just been hectic!

Chapter 43: Apologetic visions

The night deepened in Gondor, but up in the White Tower of Ecthelion, Denethor II was still awake and about. He was sweating profusely, his head throbbing. The now covered glass ball was in front of him. The Dark Lord had horrified him that night, though he refused to show any weakness. He had shown him terrible things, things he did not wish to believe. He had seen the White Tree burning; his people slain one by one; his sons falling; things the Dark Lord tormented him with many a time. Then the palantir had shown something else; something he did not expect, or recognize, at first. The image was not clear, but he thought he could make out Meduseld, as he remembered seeing it years ago. The people seemed tentative, sorrow engraved on their faces. He didn't understand why he was seeing this; what did he care about Rohan? Then men appeared out of the heavy wooden doors, carrying a bier. He could not see who was upon it, but he did see both Theoden and his son walking behind it, evidently mourning. Then the bier was turned towards him, and he almost dropped the palantir. The eyes of his little sparrow were closed, her face ashen and wan, her black hair arranged neatly, dressed in her favorite gown. He couldn't watch any longer, he threw the cloth over the hateful glass, and collapsed into his chair, panting and sweating, refusing to believe what he had seen. Feeling trapped, he flung the door open, determined to step out and enjoy the night air.

It could not be. She couldn't be. It was impossible. He would not believe it. She couldn't be dead. The mere mention of the word sent shivers up his spine, and he could not allow himself to even think it. He thought back to a time more than a score of years ago, when his Finduilas left him, and even before that, Elentari's mother—Ariethel. They could not all be gone. He would not believe it; not until the Riders came carrying her body with them would he believe it. His sons would be devastated to hear the news. Faramir. He thought of his younger son. He would never forgive him for sending her away, marrying her to Theodred, and if she had perished bearing his child, he couldn't even think of what Faramir would do. No. It was impossible. It was just a fantasy conjured by the Dark Lord to frighten him, to throw him off guard. Theoden would have dispatched a rider with the news if it were really true. No. He would not believe it.

"Father?" a whisper ventured.

Denethor wheeled around, to find his younger son sitting a few yards away from him, shivering in the cold. The apprehensive look upon Faramir's look dissolved as he saw Denethor's eyes soften.

"What's wrong Father?" he questioned.

"Wrong?" Denethor feigned a laugh, "Must there be something wrong, my son?"

Hearing this unusual endearment, Faramir's frown deepened, but he did not wish to say anything directly, "You are not usually out at this hour."

"And you are?" the Steward challenged.

His son looked down, and did not answer. Denethor softened a bit, and probed gently, "Can you not sleep?"

He shook his head, still a bit wary of his father's sudden concern. Denethor went on, with a small chuckle, "I remember when you were merely a toddler. Your mother used to tell me of your nightmares over a good meal. She would sing until your little eyelids closed again, and dream took you."

"I dream of her sometimes. Mother, I mean, though I hardly remember her," he confided, "More often I dream of— He did not finish the sentence, but anyone could guess what he wanted to say, not to mention the shrewd Steward.

But Denethor did not take this obvious opportunity to snide his son, "I dream of them as well, sometimes. I hear them singing together. Such a shame they did not really get the chance to," he chuckled again, "I remember your mother singing songs about letters and numbers with the two of you. Elentari had such a beautiful voice, even then."

"Do you miss her?" Faramir ventured.

"Of course." Faramir was not sure if he was speaking of Finduilas or Elentari. There was a misty veil over his eyes, as he was lost in the past, but Faramir could detect a trace of something ominous in those eyes that he could not place. It was not really part of the Steward, not the usual, cynical man who seemed to live just to spite people.

"It is miserable without her," Faramir murmured, almost to himself.

Denethor turned from his reverie to look at his son, and for the first time, seemed to see the loneliness etched in his young face. "Loneliness can be hard to cope with," he uttered.

"It's so quiet," Faramir whispered, "without her."

"I shouldn't have agreed," Denethor said so softly that Faramir thought he had misheard him. But looking into his father's eyes, he saw the regret, "I tore Elentari away from everything she loved, and all those who loved her."

"Theodred loves her," Faramir murmured, almost against his will. After all his rage at his father, he felt pity for the withered old man who sat beside him now, confessing his sins.

"Love given is sometimes not returned," Denethor replied, sounding more like the clever Steward.

"Boromir reports that she is happy there," it cost him so much to say that, but he forced the words out.

"I hope so," Denethor thought back to the vision, which he hurriedly tried to dismiss from his mind.

A cold gust of wind blew over, as if to emphasize the ominous image in Denethor's mind, and he shivered despite his warm cloak. His son noticed, and rose to leave, "Perhaps we should retire now, and try to get some rest before night leaves us. Goodnight Father." He began to walk away.

"Faramir," his father cried out.

"Yes Father?" he turned to face him.

Denethor could not get the words out, and merely looked at his son, until Faramir turned once more to walk away. Yet before he entered the door leading to his hallway, he heard what he thought was his father's voice call out in a whisper, "I'm sorry, my son. I'm sorry."

A/N: I felt we needed a short interlude to what was happening in Gondor, and a rest from the heavy suspense. Please review!


	44. Aftermath

A/N: Yes! Here is another chapter!!! Hehe!! No more bombardment!! Please! JK. Bombard all you like. Every author likes to know her work is well received. We finally discover the fate of poor Elentari...

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and a special welcome the new readers. I won't name them all right now because I think you want to get to the story! Please review again!

Chapter 44: Aftermath

Theodred could no longer stand the accumulating silence. Elentari had not screamed, yet there was no cry of a babe, nor was there a midwife to come out and deliver the news, good or bad. They could sense activity behind that forbidding door, much of it, but they were left in the dark.

He made many attempts to dart at the door and break it down; it was so easy, but the withholding arms of Elfhelm and Eowyn, and his own respect held him back.

Finally, the door opened, just a sliver, and Theodred darted to it, pulling it open. Two midwives stood there, their bulky figures blocking the doorway, but Theodred could see the pale form of his wife laying there, matted in sweat and blood. Before he could call out or look clearly, they shut the door behind them. Theoden, Eowyn, and Elfhelm gathered behind him.

The midwives looked like they did not know where to begin, until finally, the daunting stare of Theodred made the elder one speak, "It was a long and strenuous labor."

Eowyn stared at the woman. Was that all? Anyone could tell by the screams and the long hours that it was long and strenuous. Was that all they could tell them? What about Elentari? What about the child?

No one spoke for a long moment, until Theodred finally barked, "Tell me about my wife and child!"

"The Lady exerted herself greatly, and is now resting. Delirium seems to still have a little hold on her, and she is still feverish."

Theodred looked worried, and his eyes were raised toward the door, until Elfhelm, in his brusque, yet caring way demanded, "And?"

"And," the midwife who had been talking the entire time stuttered, jabbing her companion, forcing her to talk.

"The child, the child was born," the younger one forced out, to the glare of all who listened to her. They knew she was trying hard to conceal or delay some information, which made it even harder.

"Out with it woman, before I have you flogged!" Theodred roared. Even Elfhelm, who knew his friend better than all, was taken aback by this threat.

"The child was delivered too early, my Prince," it all came out, "It came too early. Poor thing had no chance for survival. It was not fully developed yet."

The other woman added, "It had no lungs, no way to breathe. Its limbs were unformed."

"We're sorry," the first finally said, "The Lady doesn't know. We tried to tell her, but she was too exhausted and too delirious to understand us. The healer gave her something to sleep immediately afterwards. He said it was easier that way."

Theodred was barely listening by now. His head had slumped onto Elfhelm's shoulders, who in turn tried to comfort his friend. Eowyn had tears flowing down her cheeks, as she thought of how devastated her cousin and Elentari must be. Theoden managed a voice to ask, "Was it—

"A boy," the midwife answered, knowing the question. It seemed to make the loss even more devastating, and though Eowyn knew why, she did not agree.

After standing there uncomfortably for what seemed an eternity, the midwives turned to go back in.

"Wait," Theodred's broken voice commanded, "Let me see her."

"My Lord, she is asleep. She won't know you're there," one of them protested.

"Besides, she doesn't recognize anyone. The fever has overtaken her. She keeps calling for 'Faramir' and 'Boromir, and you, my Prince."

"Let me see her," he ordered in a firm voice, his eyes flashing terribly.

"Yes, my Prince, of course," the women melted away.

As he entered the room, Theodred's eyes were fixed upon the bed, the bed that had previously been smeared in blood, sweat, and other fluids; the bed on which his love was lying. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow, the dark strands covered in sweat emphasizing her colorless face. Her eyes were closed, and were it not for the healer's reassurance, Theodred would not have believed her to be alive.

He sat beside her, his coarse hands worn from riding holding her delicate one. Exhaustion suddenly hit him, all the exhaustion accumulated from anxiety, from riding all night, from waiting, and from the devastation of the stillbirth, and he could not longer support himself. Careful not to hurt her, he positioned himself so that his upper body was lying on the bed, while he still sat in the chair, his arms around her, and let sleep take him.

Time went on unnoticed; when Theodred awoke again, he sensed her breaths grow shallower and felt her now familiar stirring. Hurriedly, he sat up again, waiting till her eyes opened.

He saw fog in those melancholy eyes that he loved, the fog that fever and pain brought on; the fog he saw when he tended to a man wounded in battle. Yet she recognized him, after staring at him for a few moments.

"I'm here, my love," he whispered, kissing her hand, "Everything's fine now. It's all over."

She did not say anything for a long time, as if trying to regain her grasp on consciousness, trying to remember what had happened to her. Finally, she touched her now-empty stomach, and looked up at him, "The child…"

A healer seemed to have heard this, for she rushed over, "My Lady, the child, it, it did not grace this world for long."

Elentari stared at both of them with wide eyes filled with horror, "No. No," she whispered, unwilling to believe them.

"I'm afraid it was too eager to join this world. So eager than it had not yet acquired the required parts to survive," the woman continued. Theodred watched his wife turn her face away, as she always did when she heard something not to her liking. It seemed to him that she believed that if she did not face something, it would go away. "I'm sorry, my Lady," the woman finished.

Motioning the woman away, Theodred swallowed his own anguish, and said, "Don't worry, love. There can be others. Next time…"

He didn't finish, for she turned back, her tear-strung eyes staring at him, "Next time? No Theodred, there will not be a next time," before she finished her sentence the tears spilled over, and she choked into sobs. He cast out his arms to comfort her, but she pushed him away with what little strength she had left.

"Please Theodred, leave me," her voice was so pathetic, so pitiful. He had no choice but to obey her, for fear that she would harm herself further if he did not abide.

Outside, Elfhelm, Eowyn, and Theoden were all waiting anxiously.

"How is she?" Elfhelm and Eowyn asked in unison.

Theodred could not find the voice to tell them.

"Well?" Eowyn couldn't restrain herself. She saw that her cousin was shaken, but she didn't care.

"She, she told me to get out," was what they distinguished.

"Is she awake?" Eowyn asked, "Can I see her?" Theodred did not answer. He was too occupied thinking of her face, the way she looked when she had received the news. Those eyes, those large, sorrowful eyes had taken the look of a wounded animal, and he thought it was better to be plunged into oblivion than to see that expression on her pale face. The fact that she had told him to get out, not wanting to share her grief with him, not allowing him to comfort her, to be with her, had wounded him more than the death of their child had. She did not seem to understand that he suffered the same devastation, the same agony. He hoped that it was ignorance of this that caused her to shun him, for if it were not, the pain would be unbearable to him, for it meant that she did not trust him, did not love him enough to share with him, or so he thought.

Inside, her face still turned towards the wall, away from the women attending her, as silent tears flowed down her face. She did not know what she wept for more: the lost child or herself. She had desperately wanted a child, if not for the child itself but for the promise of happiness it brought. She had kept herself alive for the child, found happiness in the prospect of one. But she knew then that she would never bear another child. She turned her face, and saw one midwife snoozing near her.

She called the woman over, "Bring me my child."

The midwife was startled, "But my Lady, the healers, they will not approve. It is not wise."

"Do as I say," she ordered, her voice more firm than what she felt, "Who's roof do you live under? The healers or mine?"

The midwife hesitated, "This is beyond my authority." She scampered off, and returned with one of the head healers.

"Let me see my child," Elentari demanded.

"My Lady, that is not wise." It was an unwritten protocol for midwives and healers to not allow parents to see a dead baby. Most of the time, they didn't even tell them what gender the child was, for the less parents knew about a child, the easier it was to let go.

"I did not ask you if it were wise. I asked you to bring me my child," she commanded, uncharacteristically.

"My Lady, in all honesty—she did not allow the healer to finish, "Bring me my child before I order you to be thrown to the Orcs."

Deterred, the healer reluctantly went into the next room, and returned momentarily with a small bundle in her arms. Without a word, she placed in it the outstretched arms of Elentari, and both she and midwife left.

Left alone, she looked down onto the tiny bundle, and with her finger, delicately traced the minuscule forehead. She could see and feel the beginnings of hair growing on it; tiny strands the color of hers. The dark hair seemed to be the only thing her son had taken after her, for he had the robust complexion of the Rohirrim, and as she gently pried open the shut eyelids, tears came to her eyes as she saw the azure blue of Theodred's in those tiny eyes never to open in this world. It seemed to her unfair. Dozens of children were born every day, yet it was her child that had to suffer this fate. Those that didn't deserve to live, such as Orcs and foul scum like Grima Wormtongue lived on, yet an innocent babe as this child of hers would never grace this world.

Tears flowing, she clutched the babe to her breast, until a healer later found her asleep, traces of tears still fresh upon her face.

The news spread out of Meduseld like wildfire. Before the day was over, everyone in Edoras knew, from the lowest scullery maid to the merchants on the street. With the news came the gossip. Why had the child come so early? Why did the Lady push away Prince Theodred? Did she blame him? Who was to blame for the stillbirth? Why did she refuse to see anyone? Many then recalled her hidden tears at her wedding, and the sorrowful look constantly in her eyes. She always seemed sickly, or at least not as robust as a childbearing woman should be. And why was there always a mournful look about her? What were those tears, never far from the surface there for? Most of them ended up blaming her, blaming her for not taking care of herself, for thinking herself too good for Rohan, for looking down upon them, for the death of the child. Elfhelm heard these whispers, and tried to put them down, and tried not to let Theodred or Elentari hear them.

Eowyn sat with Elentari for long periods at a time, reading to her from her favorite scripts, talking to her, or just being there. Once Elentari drifted away to sleep, as she was wont to do, Eowyn would let Theodred in, and leave the two. Yet as soon as Elentari stirred, Theodred would hurriedly leave, for his wife still did not wish to see him. When she had found him in her room once, she refused to look at him, her eyes guilt-stricken and full of tears, she commanded him to leave. It broke his heart, but he obeyed her will, trusting her unknown reasons, and hoping that she would tell him in her own good time. He did not understand why she turned away from him. Did she believe that he blamed her? Did she believe that he could be so heartless?

It was on one such occasion when she was sleeping that Theodred watched her. She had taken to sleeping for large portions of the day, something the healers told him would make her stronger, but he caught the faint lines of worry when they said this. But instead of making her stronger, the more she slept, the more she craved rest, and the weaker she felt. He was lost in her pale face when she suddenly awoke, and seeing him watching her, she turned away.

"Leave," came the whispered command once again; the command that gutted him.

"Elentari please," he begged. He didn't want to leave this time without getting some information from her, some way to know why she wouldn't face him.

"Leave," he could tell from her voice that she was close to tears. He could barely stop his own from pouring from his eyes.

"Why are you doing this Elentari?" he pleaded with her, trying not to choke on his tears, "It's been a week. If you are still grieving, then why not let me grieve with you? Why have you built these walls to isolate yourself? Please, my love."

There came no answer.

"Please Elentari."

She turned; looking him straight in the eyes, green on blue, yet he saw no tears in them, they were beyond them, only the deepest sorrow, "Leave, Theodred. Leave," she said in a firm, emotionless voice.

Tears spilling over, Theodred submitted to her will, broken. He went straight from her room to the stables, saddling Brego, and alone, rode out onto the plains.

Elentari lay there, dry-eyed, praying that she had not hurt Theodred too deeply. She did not want to, but she couldn't bring herself to face him and if hurting him was the only way to keep him away, then that was what she would do. He would never understand why she did it; no one would, not Eowyn, not Elfhelm, not even Boromir if he were here. Her thoughts instinctively turned to Faramir. It was all because of him; if he had never existed then she would have no second thoughts of her marriage. Yet if he had never been in her life, she knew she would have made it this far. It was because of these thoughts that she refused to see Theodred. She could not bring herself to look into those innocent blue eyes full of love and not want to throw herself into the sea for not being faithful to him, though her wandering had been only in thought. He had given her nothing but love and dedication, yet she had allowed her thoughts to drift, to think of Faramir; after all he had given her, she couldn't even give him the child he so earnestly wanted. She hated herself for failing him, even though he would never say it, would never blame her, and that made it even worse. If he raged at her, if he blamed her, hit her even, it would've made it easier. Yet he did nothing like that, only looked at her caringly, with nothing but love in his eyes. She didn't want to live. Yet if she let him in, let his love seep back into her heart, her determination would be swayed once more. No, she could not. She couldn't hurt him any further. She could not torture herself any longer.

A/N: I knew you guys would love this return to my simple introspection that fills the majority of this story! Or at least I hope so. Please review!


	45. Guilt and Defiance

A/N: Though this is really short, it's really one of my favorite chapters so far. I don't know why. Maybe I just desire the same thing she does.

This one's for Nayana. Happy birthday! I'm sorry it's a day late. I hope you keep reading and liking.

Special thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter: Roisin Dubh, Jade Fairy, Larka Vanimelde, Kitty and Kenny, and Serulene, with welcomes for all but the first! (Of course Susan, you are awesome too.)

Chapter 45: Guilt and Defiance

The healers of Edoras seemed never far from Lady Elentari's chambers. After staying in her chambers for an extended period of time after the misfortunate birth, Theoden had sent healers to examine her. They could find nothing physically wrong with her, except for something they called, "the will to die". She was completely docile to their efforts, never complained about anything, and when spoken to, answered with a peaceful, yet enigmatic smile of one who is content to keep a secret. They could not find anything medically wrong with her, except that she was still weak from the confinement and fever, and there was still a rather high chance of further infection and fever. Other than that, the major problem seemed to be that she did not want to get well. The healers had had plenty other things to worry about as well, for Eowyn had caught a chill and been ordered to bed. Theodred had been commanded to take some rest, for he would not stop worrying over Elentari. They prescribed a sleeping draught, and sent him to Eomer's room to rest, for his wife would still not allow him in her presence.

Unbeknownst to them, when she heard the news that Theodred was asleep in Eomer's room, she dismissed her maids, and crept over.

Stopping abruptly as she heard the door creak behind her as she entered, her heart softened when she saw his sleeping form. Trusting the sleeping draught and his exhaustion, she knelt beside the bed, gazing upon his peaceful face. With great difficulty, she restrained herself from stroking his loving face, marveling at the tranquility she found upon it. She loved watching people sleep, no matter who it was, from Theodred and Eowyn, to Boromir and Faramir back home. It seemed to her that sleep washed away all the grief and cares that weighed down upon him during the day. She remembered the saying he had once told her, "Only in dreams can man truly be free; 'twas always thus and always thus shall be." She wondered what he was dreaming of that moment, whether she was in his dreams, if he was angry with her for shunning him. If only he knew that she loved him, in her own guilt-full way, she adored him. The guilt she felt attacked her from all different directions; she was guilty for loving him as she did, and even more guilty for the guilt she felt at loving him, for she wanted to tear herself apart for being unfaithful to him, if only in thought. To top it all, she hated herself for failing him, for not giving him the heir they all coveted, and for not wanting to bear any more children. She thought herself selfish and wretched, for hurting him to save herself pain, for wanting to die and leave him.

Unable to resist, she touched the strand of golden hair that always seemed to cling to his face, and tucked it behind his ear, knowing that it was of no use and the strand would find its way back. Seeing that he did not stir, she caressed his cheek tenderly, and held his head between her small, porcelain hands. She thought of his face early in the morning, during the time where both rising and staying in bed seemed dismal options. His eyes would be half-open, his hair clinging to his face, and in his sleepiness, he was both the child and the husband she longed to love. She remembered all the times he had staggered in unexpectedly, late at night, when she was already asleep. She would awaken in the darkness to his tender kisses that set her on fire. Did she really want to give it up? Did she not love being his wife?

But these thoughts of release and ending were not the first she had. Did she not long for it when she was home in Minas Tirith? Had she not been willing to give all of it up? Boromir? Even Faramir for release from the labor of living? Gently, careful not to wake him, she planted tender kisses on his face.

For a moment, she lost her resolve, tempted to wake him, beg his forgiveness, and feel his arms around her, yield to his gentle love. Yet as quick as the weakness came, the faster it dissolved. She would not torment him any longer with her guilt, with her indecision and longing. She would not torture herself any longer. She had given up too much of her life to all these men in her life; to Denethor, to Boromir, to Theodred, to Faramir; she would take back the reins, even if it meant the ending of that life. Elated, she felt the strange pleasure of power course through her, knowing that she could decide something, had control over life, and that at her will, these men could know what she felt like, could die a little each day, could shed some of the tears that her eyes had now run dry of. With a strange new feeling of resentful defiance that though unjustified, made her feel better than she had ever before, she turned back to her own room, exhausted both physically and emotionally by her little excursion.

She did not rise unaided from there again.


	46. Too Tired

A/N: I really should stop dragging it out painfully, as UCV3z accuses me of. I was determined that this was to be the climatic chapter, but once again, I keep lying. Very sorry! I swear the next one will be. (Don't count on it.)

I'm sad. Reviewing numbers have gone down lately. Very sad now; almost as depressed as Elentari. I'm trying to get to 200 for this story! That's only 19 more! I should write a couple extra chapters to induce some more reviews. No. Please review! It'll inspire me! I'm a poor person writing this only for my own pleasure, and for feedback from you!

**Larka Vanimedle**: I'm sure Theodred and Faramir are both willing to hug the poor girl. Problem is that she won't let them. I happen to just want to hug Faramir though! Thanks for reading.

**Jade Fairy**: Ahh! Keep forgetting to email you. But if I do email you, I have a feeling you're going to bombard me with hate mail telling me not to kill anyone off (or a specific someone) and how everything should be a fairy tale in the end. I'm glad I'm keeping you on the leash though!

**Roisin Dubh**: I hope this chapter clarifies some of the guilt and the seeing love as a weakness that I introduced in the last chapter. I think I strayed away from my original intent for this story a while ago, and now I'm bringing it back. Yay! I would say she's defiant because she's taking control of her life now, instead of listening to the men who have governed her for so long.

**Kitty**: Yes. You know you like the review button!

**UCV3z**: Sssllloowww… paaiiinnnful… TORTURE! Hahaha! I'm glad your suffering (in a kind, non-sadistic way).

**"So it begins..."** :Helm's Deep music plays:

Chapter 46: Too Tired

The dwindling days passed quickly for Elentari, for time does not exist in dreams. When she awoke during the day she found herself alone, which though she told herself it was what she wanted, the reason she drove them away, the sense of power and accomplishment that it gave her was not enough to mask the overwhelming loneliness. She knew she wanted them, all of them, Theodred, Eowyn, Elfhelm, Faramir, Boromir, all of them beside her, with her, not this crushing loneliness and perfidious pride. They had given up too easily, had they not? It wasn't her fault. If they really cared, they would not leave her like this.

In reality, they had not forsaken her, but in her mind, she was no longer to blame for anything. She had heaped all the blame, all the responsibility, the duty on herself, all her life. Now she felt it was time that they knew what it felt like, to give up everything you ever wanted for someone else's ideal, to bleed where no one could see.

She should feel guilty, she should feel inhuman for what had just occurred between her and Eowyn, but she did not. There could not be any more guilt for her; she no longer thought about what she did, what it meant for others. Was it selfishness, she questioned. It must be apathy, she yielded, but was what she did truly wrong? She wasn't trying to hurt Eowyn, she was just too tired to care any more, too depleted to let anyone in, too used up by those in her life to want anything anymore, but eternal rest. Slowly, she let her mind process the interaction between herself and the younger girl, completely withdrawn from the recollection, as if she was watching a stranger's experience.

Eowyn had come in, as she did every morning, to look after her, carrying her breakfast. The girl had been unusually high-spirited, which irritated Elentari for some reason that she would usually have rebuked herself for.

Setting down the tray of fruit and bread in front of her, Eowyn smiled brilliantly, "I had them give me some grapes just for you. I know how much you like them."

"Thank you Eowyn," she had replied, "But I'm really not hungry."

The girl's face had fallen slightly, "You must eat Elentari. Or else you'll never be strong."

"Who says I want to be strong?" she had retorted.

"Why not?"

"Strength to do what?"

"Live. To be happy, to make others happy, to make me happy," she had replied so simply, so innocently, "To make Theodred happy."

The mention of that name had driven her over the edge, and all of her original determination to remain civil to Eowyn evaporated, and she screamed, "Why must I make all of you happy? Can't I make myself happy for a change?"

Eowyn's innocent eyes had grown wide, and she did not reply, only stared at Elentari, who finally said viciously, without a trace of kindness, "What are you staring at? I don't like it when people stare at me. Get out."

The girl was gone with a turn; the door closing on golden hair.

Elentari sighed, and looked at the tray of food without interest, and placed it on the table near her. She stretched, and snuggled under her covers. The bed was too big for her alone, and at that instant she thought and longed for Theodred, who was out defending Rohan once more. It was a general consensus by the healers, Theoden, his counselors, and Elfhelm that it was healthier for him to be there for the time being, for the anxiety caused by Elentari was doing him no good. She had watched him ride away from her window, and never had she felt such loneliness and anger, though she did not know who it was directed to. As it was wont to do, she soon felt sleep overpower her, and she prayed that this was the time that she would not awaken.

It was not to be. By the sounds she heard beyond her door, she guessed it was just past noon, and she was seized by a sudden impulse. Calling a maid to her, she requested that Lord Eomer come to her. The maid had not been able to hide a slightly raised eyebrow, but followed the order without question.

Soon, Eomer was standing before her, obviously a bit grudgingly.

"You sent for me?" She could see the slight resemblance between him and his cousin, and she did not know if that amused or pained her.

"Yes. Thank you for coming."

"We are kin. I trust we do not need formalities," Eomer was stark and to the point, "What is it that you want?"

"Are you occupied right now?"

"Not particularly."

"Would you help me?" she asked this boy who thought himself a man that stood in front of her, who had never hearkened to her since they met.

His brows knitted together, "With what?"

"I would like to go riding."

"What?" his gaze was incredulous.

"I would like to go riding," she repeated, "Will you help me fulfill my wish?"

"They would never allow it, not in your present condition."

She smiled curiously, "I never thought you one to adhere to the rules. Please, my Lord, take this as the last wish of a dying woman. Entertain my whim, please Eomer."

His frown grew deeper, "A dying woman?"

"Please Eomer, you and I both know the truth, and I would believe that you are the one who will not be deceived by false hope."

Eomer did not answer, for it was true. He was one who would not let false hope blind him from the painful truth in front of him.

Slowly, after long moments of thought, he nodded. "I will bring the horses to your terrace, and then help you out."

"Horses? I can no longer ride alone, Lord Eomer."

He nodded again, "I will bring my horse to your terrace."

Eomer was true to his word. Soon, he helped Elentari out of her room, and with some difficulty, onto his stallion. Mounting in front of her, she clung to him as a shipwrecked sailor clings to wood. With a click of his tongue and a nudge, they were off, "Not so fast," he murmured to his horse and tugged slightly on the reins.

"Where do you wish to go Elentari?" It was the first time he had ever said her name in her presence. He had always addressed her formally, or not at all.

"Away from life, but into life," was her answer. He did not question; he seemed to understand. She needed release from the artificial constraints of her life. She had no energy left for it. She wanted desperately to be back into what life really was. She breathed in the fresh cool air, with its sweet aroma of grasses and wildflowers mixed in with the scent of horses. She had forgotten what it was like outdoors, and she enjoyed every tingle of her skin as the wind rushed through her hair, every movement of the horse as it carried her and Eomer across the plains. The sky was so blue above her, so clear, so beautiful, as she watched the birds soar across with the clouds. The plain beneath them and ahead of them looked green, but as they moved closer, she saw the yellows, greens, reds, oranges, and purples that the wildflowers and various plants gave. A little rabbit scampered away, frightened as the approaching horse threatening to trample the adorable little creature. It seemed so dear to her, yet so far away; emblems of a life she had, but had never known, and was too tired to regret.

She did not know how much time had gone by, where they were, and she and Eomer did not speak the entire time; words were not needed. There was no hostility in their silence, only deep understanding that went beyond expression. Too soon, she saw again the little wooden houses of Edoras, heard and saw the little children playing in the grass outside their homes as their mothers cleaned the remnants of the mid-day meal. Then came the looming eaves of Meduseld, and she felt herself being helped off the horse. She staggered, almost fell to the ground, had Eomer not realized her fragility, and carried her back to her bed. Without a word, he helped her in, bowed, and walked toward the door. The last thing she said before surrendering to exhaustion was, "Thank you."

A rider yawned annoyed. This was the second time he had been disturbed in the middle of the night to ride to the Prince, carrying urgent news. Why couldn't that woman just rest? Why couldn't she be at peace? Every day there seemed new gossip in the market about her. Every day she grew weaker they said, and every day she wanted something else. She called for the Prince Theodred, yet when he was there, she refused to see him. She might be a lady, but was she not just another woman? And women could always be controlled. He scowled, but carried on with his orders to ride with all haste to Lord Theodred and tell him that he was needed in Edoras immediately. He shook his head. Last time it had been to carry news of early labor, and the resulting miscarriage. What was it this time? Must he be the bearer of ill tidings? The Prince had been too preoccupied to even notice him the last time, but he feared that he might bear the brunt of any violence Theodred might be inclined to. Yet his instructions were to ride without stopping until he reached Theodred, and so, like he had been taught since he was a boy, he followed orders.

He reached Theodred's camp when it was just stirring. Despite his exhaustion, he demanded an audience with the Prince, who was still asleep. As soon as he mentioned the words, "Lady Elentari," the men who guarded the tent, one of them Halas, immediately stopped bickering, and without a word, let him through.

Theodred was still asleep when he went in, and he stood there, not knowing whether to wake him or not, until Halas came in, realizing his dilemma, and as if quite used to it, went over and woke Theodred up, without a doubt or fear.

"What is it Halas?" he heard the Prince grunt sleepily.

"My Lord, a Rider has arrived," Halas said slowly, knowing the sleepy mind needs time to process words, "From Edoras; from the King; from Lady Elentari."

Theodred sat up at the last part, "What about her? What does it say?" He noticed the man standing there, "What does it say?" He demanded.

"My Prince, I was bid to ride here and tell you to make haste back to Meduseld. The Lady has taken ill again." Theodred's eyes widened with concern at this. The man swallowed in trepidation before he said the worst, "They say she screams your name, pleading with you to come to her, while she can still see you."

The speed at which Theodred arose was astounding, and he pressed upon the man, "What did they say was wrong with her? What do they say? Out with it man!" He forgot to dress as he ran outside his tent, issuing orders. He left a colonel in charge of the eored, while he, the rider, and Halas were to ride to Meduseld. It was not until Halas reminded him that he finally went back to dress, bidding the messenger to tell him the talk of Edoras, since no details came officially.

"All I hear is that she wants to die. She had quite a little fallout with the Lady Eowyn as well, or so they said," he reported. Theodred stopped at this, "With Eowyn? What for?"

"No one knows. Then I heard that she snuck out with Lord Eomer, and that they were gone for quite some time together; a whole afternoon. A stable boy said he saw him carry her off his horse, and after quite a while in her room, he took the steed to the stable. He was sweating and defensive."

Theodred's eyebrows knitted together in thought as they rode towards Meduseld. A fight with Eowyn? Riding out with Eomer? It was as unlike Elentari as anything he had heard. If anything, it would be the reverse: a confrontation with Eomer, who had never hearkened to her, and sneaking out with Eowyn, dearly beloved sister. Yet if she could ride out, she was not so weak as they made her sound. The thought both perplexed and soothed him. 'She pleads with you to come to her, while she can still see you.' He recalled the words that made him shiver. No. It could not be. He remembered the way they had parted. He had tried to say goodbye to her as he prepared to ride away that day, yet just like the days before, she refused to see him. The last words she had spoken to him were, "Leave Theodred, leave." Was he not to hear any more kind words from those voluptuous lips? He would not be parted from that voice; that clear, melancholy voice. No one would be so cruel to snatch her away from him, not even Death, especially on the terms they parted in. He had slept uneasily all these nights since they parted, dreaming of her. He saw her face. Sometimes, it was lovely and smiling, her almond-shaped eyes reducing to the size of a line with her sweet laughter. Those slightly parted lips entranced him, the way they moved with every word she spoke, the way her tongue flickered; they invited him.

But other times, he saw her sitting there, on their bed, talking animatedly with Elfhelm, Boromir, and Faramir. Yet as soon as he appeared, the merriness faded away, and she scowled coldly at him. She turned away, not letting him see her face, and in a cruel, high-pitched voice unlike hers, she shrieked those cruel words, "Leave Theodred. Leave. Get out. I don't want you; I hate you." And his heart shattered with each syllable uttered. He would awaken in a cold sweat, only then realizing that it was only a nightmare. Yet the spiteful look upon her face that accompanied those cruel words would not pass from his mind.

They arrived in the familiar slopes of Edoras nearing dusk; the same time of day they had arrived in this state last time. He hoped this time however, the news would not be ill, yet in his heart, he knew, it was not to be.

A/N: I should really stop with the cliffies. PLEASE REVIEW!


	47. Beautiful Forgiveness

A/N: AHH! My apologies! The greatest apologies in the capability of mankind! This chapter was a (fill in any insulting word you would like here) It dragged on. I didn't want to write it, but it was one of those I couldn't get away with. I still hate it, but I didn't care after a while. I just wanted it to go away. Hopefully you like it! Sorry for the wait!

Berrytenshi: I've always been a big canon freak (if you want proof, you can ask any of my good friends that write on here, such as Roisin Dubh) and I'm working out a way to get the Eowyn/Faramir thing in here. I am sacrificing myself for Tolkien… How I hate Eowyn for that. I don't alter Tolkien; I just play in his loopholes. Hopefully it'll come across okay. Thanks for reading!

Larka Vanimedle: You must not die! This one's not too much of a cliffie, so I think you'll be okay.

Jade Fairy: Please don't hurt me!

Roisin Dubh: I hope this turns out better to you than it is to me. Thanks for all your Eowyn help; it got me going in a very dark, nasty time. I really hope its satisfactory; I'm a bit icky with it.

Kenny: FINALLY!

Elanor-G: I've been trying to continue, but its not been coming! Eowyn's about 14-15; early teenage years basically, and I can verify that in Tolkien if any purists come along dissenting!

Miriel! So glad you're reviewing, mellon nin! I've missed thee intensely! Beyond words! WHERE'S MY MAGLOR POEM! JK! I'm glad you're liking it.

Tamika DanarDraco: Welcome! I love Eva Cassidy, and the song is great. I'm looking for a place to fit it in, and I have another song waiting in the wings. I hope you keep reading and liking!

UCV3z:hands tissue:pats on the back:

Tolkien Craz: I hope Professor Tolkien would give me as high praise as you do! Welcome! I'm really glad you like it. :sigh: If only I could write as well as the Grand Master.

Vane Alasse: YAY! You're back! I'm torturing you, aren't I?

Kitty: Don't die on me.

Tommy14: Keep reading!

Now, FINALLY for the story! Writer's block is a NASTY thing, and it all came because of EOWYN! I tell you, she is evil. First she steals my man from me, and now she gives me block so I can't write about him.

**Chapter 47: Beautiful Forgiveness**

She awoke to a dream. He was there. He was standing before her. Could she reach out to touch him? Was it just another illusion sent to torture her? To deceive her into holding on longer? She didn't care. She would risk the disappointment of a delusion. "Theodred?" she called out weakly, yet hopefully.

She felt the phantom take her hand, and kiss it. Maybe it wasn't an illusion. "I'm here, love."

"Is it really you?" doubt still lingered in her mind. She reached out a feeble hand to touch his face. Cold fingers met warm skin, and she smiled.

"You've come back?" she questioned. She couldn't believe how good he was. After the way she had treated him, he held no grudge, hurrying back at her call. Even Faramir would never have done that for her. He would have held a grudge; he would have made her beg. Yet she loved him more; her love was beyond reason.

"Of course I have. I could never leave you," his voice was gentle, "I love you."

Tears came to her once more. "Don't say that, Theodred." She looked away for a moment. The eyes that returned to meet his were full of regret, "I'm sorry Theodred. I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

He was puzzled, "Forgive you what? What have I to forgive you for?"

"Everything," she said, "Please forgive me. Please don't hate me; let me hate myself. I'm sorry for pushing you away. I'm sorry for the child. I'm sorry for not living for you. I'm sorry for not being a faithful wife."

Theodred was stunned. He stared at her; those childlike eyes boring into her, searching, pleading with her to elaborate; to take back those words.

She clung to him, her tear-stricken face buried in his chest, whispering, "Please don't hate me, Theodred; please don't. Let me hate myself. Let me punish myself. Please love."

He wanted her to explain, but he could never resist her pleading, her tears, and she was so desperate, so vulnerable and yielding. "Hold me Theodred, hold me. Hold me like you always did. Tell me you love me."

"I do," he wasn't lying, "I do love you. You know that." He was confused, but that didn't diminish his love.

She did not seem satisfied. She held his face in her hands, bringing it close to hers, "Kiss me."

He could not understand her. He did not understand what she wanted, but he submitted to this demand for affection willingly.

Finally, she whispered, "Does Eowyn hate me?"

Other than what the rider had told him, he did not really know what had occurred between the two. "What happened?"

She hid her face in shame, "I was a cruel monster. I let it overpower me. I told her I wanted to die. I told her I didn't want her to be happy. I told her to get out and I didn't want to see her face. I was so spiteful. I don't know why I said it. Please let her forgive me. I didn't mean it."

"She doesn't hate you. She might be hurt, and a little angry, but she could never hate you, just as I could never. We both love you too much."

"I haven't seen her since that day. I wonder how she is. I wonder if she's ridden the new mare yet."

"You can ask her," Theodred moved to get up, prying her off of him gently.

"No," she cried out desperately, "Don't leave me Theodred. Stay with me. Don't let me go," she clung to him, as if there was another force pulling her away.

Theodred kissed her forehead, "I'm not leaving you. I'll just go find Eowyn. I'll be back in a moment."

"Please no," she begged. She was almost hysterical. He had no other choice. He called a woman to him, "Go find Lady Eowyn. Tell her that I wish to see her after all these weeks. Ask her to please come here immediately." He continued cradling Elentari, treating her as delicately as a newborn child. He still did not understand this mood of hers, and those words. An unfaithful wife? Her? How? Why did she demand his affection so voraciously? Why was she on the edge of hysteria, especially at the suggestion of his leaving?

Soon, the woman appeared, and whispered in his ear, "Lady Eowyn stands outside. She refuses to enter."

He sighed. This was why he had wanted to find her himself. He knew she wouldn't come willingly. Eowyn was proud, and did not like to be insulted or hurt, and he needed to coax her into it. Yet at the same time, his wife would not allow him to leave her. What was he to do?

"Elentari," he gently coaxed, "I have to go speak with Eowyn, to bring her to you. I'll be right back. I'll be right outside the door, not far. Please."

She was unwilling, but after some persuasion, she reluctantly let him go, under the promise that he would return within three minutes.

Eowyn stood grumpily outside the door, arms folded, a scowl resembling Eomer's upon her face, as Theodred came out. Even the sight of her cousin could not lighten her face.

"No smile for me, cousin?"

She shook her head, "No smile for her either."

"Ah Eowyn, come now. She didn't mean it. She was feeling horrible and spiteful that day, and she wanted to take it out on someone. She's sorry. You should see her. She's crying over you. She's begging you to forgive her." And me. She wants all of us to forgive her. But what does she want me to forgive her for? What did she mean?

"She wasn't feeling horrible and spiteful with Eomer," Eowyn retorted, "They went out riding. I can't believe Eomer consented. He was right about her all along. She hates this place. She hates all of us. She doesn't want to live with us. She doesn't even want to see us. That's why she pushed you away. Now she screams for you. You shouldn't have come Theodred. You should have let her suffer."

Theodred wanted to strike her for these words, but restrained himself, reminding himself that Elentari wanted to see her, and that was his main goal. Hitting Eowyn wouldn't help. But it startled him to hear that Elentari and Eomer had indeed gone riding. He would need to inquire about this later. "Eowyn, do not speak harsh words in haste and anger. Please come in and see her. What harm would it do? She's so pitiable. Are you just afraid that you'll lose your anger if you see her? Do you want to hold onto it so badly that you'll be a cruel, malicious person? She's hurt you, I can see that, but don't hurt her in return. Remember the stories that you were taught as a little girl? To be kind to people even if they are unkind to you."

Eowyn scowled, glaring at her cousin, arms still folded. Theodred knew he had planted the right seeds. All he needed to do was wait and Eowyn would give in. Remembering his promise of three minutes, he went back in to his wife, knowing that Eowyn would appear sooner or later.

Sure enough, a while later, Theodred heard the door creaking open behind him as he cuddled Elentari. The door shut behind a mass of golden hair, and Eowyn stood reluctantly but proudly in front of them.

Elentari gathered strength enough to rise in her bed, and faced Eowyn, whose pale, grave countenance revealed no emotion. Elentari was reminded distinctly of Faramir when faced by an inquiry from Denethor, but forced the mere thought of him out of her mind.

"Hello Eowyn," she whispered lightly.

The girl merely nodded. Elentari continued, "Theodred, would you leave us?"

Theodred was taken aback at this proposal and the swift change in his wife. Only moments ago she had been hysterically begging him to hold her, but now, she was asking his departure, as calm and composed as a queen in front of her subjects. He looked to Eowyn, who nodded slightly, evidently trying not to let Elentari notice it. Seeing that they both agreed, he bowed and shut the door behind him.

Elentari wrung her hands about her. She had hoped that when Eowyn finally came, the words would come to her, but now, with Eowyn standing before her, she knew naught what to say.

"Eowyn," she began, and faltered again.

The girl stared at her intently, her eyes seeing through the weak figure before her. And slowly, a sardonic smile spread across her lips.

"I never thought I would see the day when the great lady of lore would falter in words before me," she smiled, a triumphant, yet rather unnatural smile.

Elentari joined her in a smile, evidently relieved to see Eowyn speaking to her.

"Eowyn, how I spoke to you before, I shouldn't have. I can't take it back; that I know, and I have hurt you, something I regret terribly, but I can't take those words back. All I can ask is for you to forgive me. Please Eowyn. Without your forgiveness, I could never close my eyes without seeing the pain upon your face. I spoke from frustration and anger."

Eowyn did not answer her plea, but merely asked, with a mysterious light in her eyes, "Why do you say you wish to die?"

Elentari sighed heavily. "I only hope that you will never understand my pain. One day, you may reach a point where nothing seems to be worth it anymore, Iluvatar forbid it. Eowyn," Elentari thought about a scenario that would touch the young girl and appeal to her, "Suppose in the future, Eomer, Theodred, and Theoden are all gone, and Rohan is in mortal peril. Yet you are not allowed to defend her. You are to sit, behind bars till all thought of valor has gone beyond recall or desire. What would you do then, Eowyn? Would you want to die?"

Elentari could see the thoughts racing through the young girl's mind. Finally, she spoke, "I would go to battle, and I would attain valor and glory, but I would not return from the battle."

Elentari smiled bitterly, "May Iluvatar forbid that from ever happening. Do you understand a bit more now, Eowyn?"

The girl nodded slightly, but then shook again. "I understand what I would do, but I do not understand why you believe so. You have happiness before you."

Again, Elentari smiled ruefully, "You may believe so." She sought a way to explain to the girl without delving into her past, into her past with Faramir. She thought and thought, but there was no way around it. She would never speak against Theodred, and she found no way of explaining to Eowyn in a way she would understand. Finally, an idea struck her, "Let me sing you a tune, Eowyn. I think you will like it, and if you do, I will teach it to you."

I close my eyes only for a moment

And the moment is gone

All my dreams pass before my eyes

Dust in the wind

All they are is dust in the wind

Same old song

Just a drop of water in the endless sea

All we do crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see

Dust in the wind

All we are is dust in the wind

Don't hang on, nothing last forever but earth and sky

It slips away, and all your coins won't another minute buy

Dust in the wind

All we are is dust in the wind

Dust in the wind

Everything is dust in the wind

"Tis a beautiful song," Eowyn commented at the end.

"Yes. Faramir and I wrote it long ago, I the words, he the melody after we read the sad tale of Miriel Serindë."

"Miriel," Eowyn echoed the name, trying to recall the tale, "Was she not the mother of Fëanor?"

"Yes."

"The mother of Fëanor, who," Eowyn strained to remember, "Who left her life after he was born, for she could no longer go on with the labor of living."

It was Elentari's turn for the ironic smile, "She desired release from the constraints of flesh, but her spirit walks on, boundless and free." She paused for a moment, a dreamy look upon her face. "Ever since I was a child, I would walk by the shores of the Sea, not understanding what it was I wanted. I loved Minas Tirith, but when I was there, I never felt truly happy. My brothers would leave me in hysterical laughing fits with their witty comments and hilarious actions, but the laughter would subside to an aching pain. I never knew what it was, till I came to the Sea, and I understood." Elentari knew she was saying more than she needed to, but she could not stop herself. She had to tell Eowyn, she had to make the girl understand; she did not know why.

"Lady Uinen, with her long flowing hair, called to me. I can't explain it, but when I was there, I no longer felt; I no longer wanted. I was whole. I hope one day you shall feel that way, Eowyn. That is true happiness."

Eowyn gazed at her with a critical, but not condescending eye. "And Edoras, Theodred, none of that can make you feel that?"

Elentari sighed, "I love you. I love every one of you. I love you, Theodred, Theoden, Eomer, Elfhelm, Faramir, Boromir, Denethor, Imrahil, all of my friends. You have made me happy, but I can't explain what this other feeling is. I don't think I ever belonged. I think I was born for the Sea, and I have only lingered because of those I love. I have never told anyone this, Eowyn, not even Faramir. I don't think I have ever even spoken of this to myself. But let's not speak of this. I've forgotten what I was intending to talk about. I'm sorry Eowyn. You have been the truest friend to me. I can't believe I spoke to you in such a way."

The younger girl smiled, "You have taught me so much, and yet you are kinder than all of my tutors. I think I can forgive you for one minor offence."

Elentari grinned, "And I don't think any of those tutors of yours ever interwove discussions of the aesthetic features of the characters you're studying."

"Aesthestic features? Must you speak so I cannot understand? But I must say, Celegorm was the best looking Fëanorian."

With that, the women broke into a storm of argument over the matter; Elentari for Maglor; Eowyn for Celegorm.

A/N: Whoa… re-reading this, I can see the major mood swings I went through while writing this. I hated this chapter. It dragged on and wouldn't leave me alone. I just wanted to get it over with; hopefully it's satisfactory. Sorry again for the wait! I'm on spring break, so hopefully I'll be more prolific!


	48. Here I Am Falling

A/N: I loved this chapter. So angsty. Another side of Theodred; wait, can't give too much away! Read on! We're seriously winding down folks! I can't believe I just said folks. Review numbers are going down. I am sad. I cry. It's probably my fault for not updating as quickly as I used to. I'll try! But uphold your end of the deal and REVIEW! That's all I ask of you! Andrew Lloyd Webber starts playing. I HAD this done Friday night, and have waited THIS long to post it cuz SOMETHING was DOWN.

Nim-mag: You're BACK! I missed thee! Glad you're still crying.

Jen: I LOVED your review… Hehe. Finally new chapter eh?

Larka Vanimedle: Thanks. You will kill me after this chapter.

Roisin Dubh: Ze block is FINALLY gone. I shouldn't say that. It'll come back! AH! Hope all's going well for you. How's Serena? Last I saw she wasn't doing too well.

Elanor-G: An Irish Blessing? Want to send me the lyrics? Yes… get your tissues ready for that last chapter.

UCV3z: Thanks for the advice. That chapter needs to be reworked, but I'm not in the mood to do it. :more tissues:

Kitty: Wow. Long review. I'm glad you get it for once! Hehe!

Chapter 48: Here I Am Falling

Try as he might, he could not get those words out of his mind. They echoed in his ears, in every beat of his heart, in every ion of his being. It was in the horse, his faithful steed. It was in the eyes and faces of the servants that scurried around Meduseld. It was on the tongue of every one of those greedy, corrupt counselors his father had not the strength to banish. It reflected in every blade he saw, it rang in every sound he heard, hid under every rock.

I'm sorry. Those words sounded so hollow, unexplained. What was she thinking behind those wide, melancholy eyes? What were any of them thinking? To his right, he could almost see a sneer on the face of a serving lad as he walked throughout the halls of Meduseld. A peasant sneering at his prince; how dare he? What were they saying about him? Theodred was not a man who cared about the gossip that ranked the court. He was also not a man who cared what people thought of him, except those closest to him; a fact that his father had often chided him for. You cannot rule and not care for the people, he always said. He also did not listen when people tried to poison his mind against those dearest to his heart. But today, today was different.

Today, he wanted to know. He wanted to know what they were whispering as they chopped the vegetables. He wanted to know what they thought as they were saddling the horses. He wanted; needed to know what the women were spreading like the plague to each other as people came and bought their goods.

For not being a faithful wife, she had said. What did she mean by that? She often complained about his absence, or even when she didn't, he could see it in the reluctance of her eyes. Could she? Could she have taken up another to help her endure his absence? Never. He wouldn't let words poison their love.

But these words had come from her mouth, not the tongue of some corrupt opportunist. His eyes narrowed. What had been the subject of gossip lately? The poisonous, idle words of hundreds came to his mind. As weak as she was, why had she gone riding with Eomer? And why had Eomer agreed? Eomer had always grudged Elentari, even gone as far as blatantly disliked. Why?

Theodred was not a man of rash action, nor was he a man to act on nothing but suspicion, but today, with all the cares of his life lying heavy upon him; none of it meant anything to him. He had to find out. He had to know. He would go mad if he did not know what those words meant. There would be no Prince of Rohan if he did not find out the truth.

"EOMER!" He stormed into his cousin's room. The younger man quickly jumped up from his desk, showing respect, but also stunned by his cousin's vehemence.

Theodred was enough of himself to glance upon the desk and see the rough beginnings of a pencil sketch. He could see the outlines of a horse, of the tall grass that swayed in the wind that he knew so well, the flowers that his wife picked and braided into his hair. His wife; his beloved, weakening wife. He could also see, the faintest traces of two people upon the horse, and that did nothing but fan his confused emotions. Emotions he could not place. It was not anger. It was not sorrow. It was nothing he had ever felt before. He wanted, needed, desperately, more than anything in the world; more than the air filling his lungs, needed to know what she meant; needed her to say that she was wrong. Needed to know that she loved him. Needed to know that she loved only him. He could not bear anyone else in her heart. He could not begin to think of Eomer and Elentari, or anyone besides him with Elentari, but the thought of Elentari's constant complaints of loneliness, Eomer's youthful, worry-free, handsome looks, her guilty words; he didn't know what to think.

Eomer's voice snapped him back, "Yes, Theodred? Welcome home."

He turned back, his eyes boring into his cousin's. He tried to calm himself. He tried not to confront Eomer.

"I have heard that you went riding yesterday."

"Yes. I was just about to go after I finished working on this," he glanced at the sketch.

"What is that?" Theodred tried to stay cool.

Eomer smiled, but pretended to be worried, "Can you not tell what it is?"

"Tell me and I'll tell you if I was right."

"Come now Theodred. We've been doing this for years. You tell me first!"

Theodred resolutely refused to answer, until Eomer sighed and said, "Fine. Here's the horse," he traced the paper with his finger, "And the tall grass that's always itchy to lay in. Remember? We used to trick Eowyn with that."

"And? Who are the people?"

"I haven't finished them yet."

"Who are they supposed to be?"

"Who do you think they are?"

Theodred frowned for a moment, as if in deep thought, "Eowyn and you?"

Eomer shrugged, "Could be."

"But it wasn't what you had in mind?"

Eomer shrugged again, "No. I was thinking more of Elentari."

So it was true. A heavy brick fell in Theodred's heart, but he continued to play. The creator cannot forfeit. There would be no game then.

"How would you know what Elentari looks like on a horse?"

Eomer did not know how to respond. He himself saw nothing wrong with telling Theodred, but he was afraid of what Elentari would say. They had, after all, sneaked out. She was not supposed to leave her room. If she became worse because of him, Theodred would damn him. He would tell Theodred if he had to, but only then.

"Don't women always look the same on a horse? You said she was a good rider, so I imagined how Eowyn rides, and added dark hair."

"On the same horse? As I recall, Eowyn hasn't ridden with either of us since she was eight. Said we weren't good enough."

Eomer smiled, and tried to smooth his error, "Why does it matter who I went riding with Theodred? There are plenty of pretty lasses in the village."

"My wife wouldn't be one of them, would she?" Theodred glared at his cousin.

"What do you mean? Of course she's pretty. How could she have you so besotted if she weren't?"

"That wasn't what I was saying Eomer," Theodred's voice rose with the second, "Stop playing the game."

You created it. Why does he have to stop playing it?

So you can win.

"What game?" Eomer began to panic.

"Did you take my wife riding yesterday?"

"Why would you think that?" Eomer was stalling for time.

"Never mind that. Yes or no?"

Eomer gulped, "Yes. She asked me." No matter how he felt, his voice never quivered.

Theodred's voice went down a level, but Eomer could hear the masked intensity, "Why did you take her? I thought she was a worthless Gondorian who did not want anything to do with us. I thought she didn't deserve us."

Eomer shrugged, "She begged me to. You always tell me how women, for all their wiles and charms, are most irresistible when they are distressed. She pleaded with me. She asked me to take it as a request of a dying woman."

As soon as that word left his mouth, Eomer clasped his mouth shut. He knew he had made a mistake. Theodred would never see it, no matter how many healers told him. Theodred would never believe it. Now with this odd behavior, Eomer had no idea what his cousin would do.

"SHE IS NOT DYING!" He screamed, "SHE WILL RECOVER."

Eomer backed into the wall, "Let us all hope she will, but do not fool yourself Theodred."

"I am not fooling myself Eomer, and when she does recover, it will not be you that I thank!" He snarled at his cousin, and before storming out, with one sweep of his hand, crashed all the pencils and paper to the floor.

He stormed the short distance between Eomer's room and his, and practically broke down the door. He found Eowyn chattering gaily to Elentari, who was smiling dotingly and arguing with the girl over Feanorians.

"Theodred," they said in unison. Elentari seemed to note the fury and confusion in his steaming eyes, and said quietly, "Eowyn, will you please leave us? Maglor is still better, though."

After the door closed, Theodred began, "I have just gone to see Eomer."

"How is he?" she smiled meekly.

"Looking better than you are," he said flatly.

She nodded. Why wouldn't she say anything? Where had that outburst gone from earlier?

"You went riding with him yesterday." It was not a question.

"Yes." She held no trace of denial in those clear eyes.

No matter how hard he tried, he could not bring himself to accuse her. He could not bring himself to believe that she could do anything but love him.

"You know you can't. The healers forbid it."

"What the healers say doesn't matter to me anymore. I know better than them."

"Know what?" he could barely hear himself.

There was no sadness about her, "My fate. I've known it since the day I walked on the shores of Dol Amroth."

He couldn't take it anymore. He broke down like a little child. He sank to the floor, his chest convulsing with sobs he had forced down for months. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think. He couldn't feel. He couldn't breathe. He felt nothing but death. He wanted Him to take him instead of her. A thousand knives pierced him, but he could not cry out in pain. He was choking. He was drowning.

Then she came. She, the weak one, the dying one, came to him. She saved him. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him out of the water. He felt her lips press gently on his skin. He felt the softness and perfection hold him. She cradled him like the mother he never had. She cradled him like the child they never had.

And she held him. She spoke no word. She sang no song. She just held him, until his sobs subsided and he was no longer drowning.

Why does my heart cry?

Feelings I can't fight

You're afraid to leave me

But just don't deceive me

And please believe when I say

I love you

He summoned enough voice to croak that out. He had enough humor left in him to find it ironic that he was singing to her, instead of the other way around.

She pulled him closer to her, taking in his rich, strong scent, working her fingers through his soft hair. She never wanted to let him go. She remembered a time when she felt the same for another. She had never let him go, and for that she was paying her penance. How could she tell him? How could she break this beautiful, fragile heart that hung so much on her? Yet she had to. She knew she had to.

She could feel his heart breaking with every moment she did not reply. She could not find the words. She had to make him face the truth, but she also had to tell him she loved him. It was always easier for her to sing, than speak.

You hear me shout when no one's about.

You find me where I can't be seen.

I feel the air flowing for life's in full swing.

So tell me why I cannot breathe.

Here I am falling, oh why am I falling,

Take me to where I belong.

I'm standing here falling, before you I'm falling,

If it weren't for your wings I'd be gone.

Time moves on, and time won't be long.

In time I will fear not the day

I'm endlessly knowing that you'll never know

What I might want you to say.

Here I am falling, oh why am I falling,

Take me to where I belong.

I'm standing here falling, before you I'm falling,

If it weren't for your wings I'd be gone.

My back it aches, my body it breaks,

To grow my own wings I have tried

Painless I came. Now aimless remain,

Alone and adrift on the tide

But here I'm still falling, oh why am I falling

Take me to where I belong.

I'm standing here falling, before you I'm falling

If it weren't for your wings I'd be gone.

He finally raised his eyes to hers, and the pain she saw in them she could not bear. The childish, naïve look was gone; she had killed it, and for that she would never forgive herself.

"Theodred," she whispered, "Hold me. Hold me tighter than you ever have before. You won't hurt me."

She pressed her lips against his, drawing warmth from him, strength from him before she broke their hearts.

When their lips parted, she spoke softly, "No matter what I say to you now, I want you to remember that I love you."

She kissed the palm of his hand. "Remember this morning when I asked you to forgive me? I asked you to forgive me for not being faithful."

How could he forget? Those torturous words that drove him beyond madness.

"I know that must have tormented you. I know you must have thought a thousand things, but I know it was not what I am going to tell you now."

"I'm dying Theodred. You know I am. We all do. It's just been a matter of when. I've been waiting only to tell you this. I could never forgive myself if I left you here blinded."

She sighed heavily, trying to summon the courage to tell him.

"I love you. Truly, I do, but I was always holding myself back, because I knew I couldn't give you what you wanted."

"But you have," he protested, "You have given me everything I've ever wanted."

She shook her head, "I couldn't. I can't." She stammered. She couldn't say it. It was on the tip of her tongue, but it wouldn't come out. "To give someone your heart, you have to have it. I don't have it. I gave it away long ago. And he will never return it."

Transparent pearls from separate hosts fell, and met each other on the floor.

A/N: REVIEW! I know the suspense will kill you. Any one want to tell me what the pearls are, as some people I tested it on didn't get it! Theodred's song is a little section from El Tango De Roxanne of Moulin Rouge that I altered a little bit. Elentari's is "Falling" by Kate Rusby.


	49. The Road Back

A/N: Well I started writing this at 9:40 PM. It's now 3:02 AM. Wow. Hope you enjoy it. This is dedicated to Miriel Amarian, dear friend, who got me through this. I didn't want to write it at first, but she got me hooked!

Miriel: This chapter is dedicated to you, mellon nin! Review again and I shall be happy! And how was the interaction between Theodred and Eomer familiar? Am I forgetting something?

Jen: REVIEW PLEASE! Or I won't write anymore! Hehe!

Larka Vanimedle: Hannon le! Keep reviewing!

Roisin Dubh: I've finally updated! Pester me to read your new fic please! I need persistence these days.

Elanor-G: OOO THAT Irish Blessing. I KNEW that! Thanks.

UCV3z: Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote the Phantom of the Opera. The genius!

Nim-mag: YAY! You're back! I was beginning to think you'd abandoned me!

Killer Fuzzy Bunny From Hell: Yes! I've FINALLY updated, right? Don't die please! I don't want to be sued! Though it would be a compliment…

Mariette: Welcome! Keep reviewing! It makes me happy! And a happy writer is good, trust me. You don't want me being like Elentari.

Vane Alasse: Tis you! Thanks for reviewing! And yes, I did make up the transparent pearlstears thing.

Silver A-San88/Adam: Wow your sn is complicated. Yay I'm glad you like this one too. Remind me to send you the other one.

LadyoftheElves15: Welcome! I don't care what you write in a review, as long as it's good (or constructive criticism). Just leave a note that you've read and it makes me happy!

Thanks to all who read!

Chapter 49: The Road Back

Halas sat wearily upon his horse. It had only been a few hours, and as a Rider of Rohan he should be ashamed of himself. Yet the odor of pestilent lethargy hung heavy in the air; it was unavoidable, ever falling, seeping through the skin of the men. The wind itself ran with the stench of death.

For the third time in three years, Halas found himself riding for Gondor. He knew not why, only that the Lord Theodred had emerged from Meduseld before dawn with the appearance of extreme composure. So calm that Halas had been disturbed. Yet the façade of calm had been violently betrayed when Theodred had ordered the ride to Gondor. Halas swore he saw tears reflecting in those crystal eyes, and the tremor in that voice could not be mistaken.

He wasn't exactly sure why they were going. He actually opposed it. The Lady was definitely too ill to travel, but it seemed to be her request. What other reason had they to go to Gondor? There was no urgent political need. Ever since their departure, and the beautifully tearful farewells, Theodred had unwaveringly ridden beside the litter in which his wife lay, never speaking a word.

Inside, Elentari lay just as silent, though not as somber as her husband.

I'm going home. I'm going to see the seven levels of white stone. The Tower Guard shall take up the call; the Tree shall glimmer in the morning sun. I'm going to enter the great Gate I spent my youth wishing myself out of, but have done nothing but long for since.

I'm going to see _him_.

Has he changed? How tall is he now? Do his eyes still hold the light of the sun and moon as one, reflected upon the tranquil sea? Does he remember me? Does he love me?

Have I any right to ask for his love?

Tears filled her eyes as she thought of the man that rode beside her now. Shame at herself for her treachery, yet relief at her painful honesty.

"To give someone your heart, you have to have it. I don't have it. I gave it away long ago. And he will never return it."

The room had been deadly silent for what seemed an eternity, as Theodred tried and failed to absorb and understand the meaning of her words.

Finally, he spoke, "There's someone else." It was half of a statement; more of a question; and all disbelief. He was begging her to take it back.

She nodded slowly, "Long ago. When I was a girl that knew nothing of the world."

"But that was long ago," the protest died on his lips, remembering her words.

His eyes grew cold, though his voice still quiet, "If you do not love me, why did you marry me?"

She sighed heavily, "This is what I was afraid of. I wanted you to remember that no matter what I tell you now, I love you."

"Is not loving me giving me your heart? And if you never could give me your heart, you never loved me," his voice never grew above a whisper, and his words were more of trying to understand than accusation. "Why didn't you marry him instead?"

She had not wanted to tell him everything. She had not the courage for it. She cared about him too much to tell him that her father had forced her into marriage.

"It could never have been, my love and I, no matter what we did. We could go beyond the circles of the world and return and it still would have been forbidden."

This confused Theodred even further. Had a stable boy stolen her heart? She was the daughter of the Steward. Who could forbid her union unless it was unacceptable to the Steward himself? He was an eccentric man; that Theodred knew, but he did not think he would deny his daughter happiness, unless it was absolutely flagrant. Who would Denethor deem unacceptable? Someone so far below her in station that it was absolutely ridiculous? In his confusion, he recalled not the swirling rumors he had heard years ago in Gondor.

"When I married you," she continued, "I knew I would grow to love you. You were a good man, and it did not occur to me then how unfair it would be to you. And as I thought, you won me bit by bit, and though I adore you, you could never surpass him in my heart."

He had stood up then. "I understand." And he turned away.

He had come back that night, after going riding for the entire afternoon, as she had discovered from a serving maid, when he thought she was sleeping. Kneeling beside her bed, he stroked her pale face and wove his fingers through the outspread hair. He seemed to be grasping with the reality of her words, unwilling to accept it. What was he thinking?

"My love," he whispered as he traced her eyebrow lightly with a finger. No matter how he wounded he was, how disbelieving, how much he didn't want to see her, his feelings could not be erased. "Do you lie to me? Please tell me you are lying to me. I will not condemn you for a lie this time. Please Elentari."

She lay there, not knowing whether to speak, to tell him she was awake, or to listen. She wanted to know his thoughts, and she could only do that by feigning slumber, but to deceive him further tormented her.

"Who is it that stole your heart before I had a chance? Who are you forbidden to love? Who is this man who knows not how fortunate he is? He does not know that I would give my crown and everything in my life to be in his place."

She smiled ruefully, her back towards him. And you do not know that he would give everything in Gondor, even his beloved Ithilien to be in your place. She longed to kiss away the tears she knew were streaming down his cheeks. How could he be so adorable? So naïve?

"Who is it Elentari? Who is it? I must know. What sort of man is he? Does he deserve your love?"

The best, she thought. He must be the best, if he can outplace even you, dear Theodred.

"A forbidden love. Things forbidden have a secret charm, they say. Who would your father forbid? A stable lad? Did he ride with you every day? Did he groom your horse to perfection? If he is a stable lad, I would like to see him against any horseman of Rohan."

Her mouth pressed into a line again, with the sides curving up, ever so slightly. A rider he is. Not as great as you, Prince of the Horsemen. I did ride with him every day, and he did groom my horse to perfection, but he is not a stable boy.

Not wanting to deceive him any longer, she turned, yawning sleepily, "Theodred?"

Immediately, he rose and turned away. "Did I wake you?"

"I heard something about stables and horses. I thought maybe something had happened."

"No. Nothing." He turned to leave.

"Please Theodred, don't go," she beckoned him to sit beside her, "This is what I feared when I resolved to confess to you. I can only hope that one day you will come to forgive me, but I had to tell you. I couldn't bear it if you didn't know the truth when I'm gone."

His eyes jerked up to meet hers for the first time since her confession. "You will not leave. You cannot die."

"He will take me Theodred, whether you will it or not," she said without a trace of fear, "You said once you only wanted for me to be happy, no matter what it cost. I do not know if you still think that now, but believe me, I will be happier in death than I ever was in this life. I've had my joyful moments. Every moment with you, moments in my childhood, with Faramir, Boromir, Araniel, all of them, but I was born in mourning, my life has been marked with sorrow, and what joy I found was always shadowed. When I am gone Theodred, tell them not to weep. I do not wish my life to end in tears. I have had enough of them.

He did not answer, for he heard truth in her words. Her mother had died because of her birth. She had never known her father. Her youth was marked by a forbidden love, this he now knew, and then carried off to a foreign land in which she suffered loneliness and a miscarriage. Still, he could not part with her.

"You long to know who was this mysterious love of mine."

The answer was in his eyes.

"You might be surprised to know that you've met him before," she smiled curiously, a child's smile that sickened him, as it did not fit with the wasted face before him. It reminded him too painfully of the woman he had first met. A beautiful, noble woman with a trace of mysterious melancholy that he longed to understand. Now that he did, it revolted him. Some things are better left undiscovered, he realized, though he did not love her less. Yet his love was different. The ardent flame let part of itself transform into a pitying love, a more brotherly love, though she was still first and foremost his wife.

"Theodred," she whispered, her eyes closed, "Can you see it? The White Tower of Ecthelion? It's banner caught in the summer breeze. Can you hear the great gates, with the horse and the rider, opening wide, as the Tower Guard takes up the call, welcoming weary riders home?"

He bit his lip to keep the tears back.

"Theodred," she spoke his name as if she wouldn't be able to for much longer, "If you could have anything in the world at this moment, what would it be?"

He tasted the blood on his lip as he struggled against the flood. "You."

"Me? Why do you waste your wishes for something useless?"

He swallowed hard, "The most precious jewel anyone could offer. I would ask for your life and your heart."

"And if you had to choose between the two?"

Without hesitating, "Your life. My feelings mean nothing beside that."

Again, there was that selflessness she adored in him.

Trying to regain himself, he asked, "And you? What do you want more than anything at this moment?"  
"To go home. To see the White City," she murmured as she dreamt of the seven levels.

He nodded. "Though I cannot grant my own wish, yours will be done."

Before dawn had even broken, Theodred had ordered all to be made ready for a ride to Gondor. He ignored the protests of the counselors and healers. He heard only her wish. Her only wish, as she said.

There had been tearful farewells, especially when Eowyn had been called out of bed with the news. She flew into the Great Hall, where Elentari had been paying her respects to Theoden King.

"You cannot leave!"

"Eowyn—

"And when did you decide to leave? Just yesterday we were talking about the History of Middle-Earth. Where are you going? Gondor? Why?"

"Eowyn—

"How did Theodred agree? I thought he was finally staying home for an extended period of time! And you're too sick to travel! And to Gondor! That's three days ride, as the Nazgul flies. It'll take you at least two weeks! And what if you're attacked?"

"Eowyn!" The girl stopped temporarily. "I'm going home, because it's what I've longed to do for months. I wish I could take you with me, to let Boromir and Faramir see my sister, as opposed to them, my two brothers. I wish I could take you to Dol Amroth and show you the Sea, let you hear the harmony, see the beauty, but I can't."

"But why are you going in such short notice?"

"Because I must, love. Remember when you said you wouldn't want to live anywhere but Edoras? That it was your one and only true home? Well that is what Minas Tirith is to me. I spent my entire childhood dreaming I was somewhere else, dreaming of adventure and valor, just as you do now Eowyn, but now I would give anything to return to it. Remember, do not be too eager to throw away what you have for the beautiful unknown."

"I'll remember."

"I shall truly miss you, mellon nin. You have been true and dear, Eowyn. Don't grow up too fast, my love." She kissed the girl's forehead, below the golden hair. "Namarië."

"You speak as if you will not return," Eowyn cried. Elentari smiled a knowing smile, "Keep me in your heart Eowyn. Keep me there forever."

She let the girl kiss her cheeks, embraced her one last time, and let Theodred carry her to the litter.

As they rode away, she turned one last time to look behind her, at one small figure, clad in white, golden hair flying with the wind, dwindling in the distance. She surveyed the fading golden eaves of Meduseld; the engraved horses nobly guarding. It had been her home for almost three years now. It was no longer the strange place she had never seen before that she encountered when she was a bride. It had been her home. It had been a home of happy times, but she was happier to be on this road. The road back to Minas Tirith; the road back to the home of her childhood; the road, back to Faramir.

A/N: Ze button is below. You know you want to push it.


End file.
